Phantom Letters
by RosemaryLuina
Summary: Many years have passed since the scorpion was turned. Erik didn't die, but decided to travel and search for disfigured geniuses, who could become his successors. Marguerite Firmin is to find out if there's more than one Phantom lurking beneath the Opera House... A lot of OC. Mainly based on the book, with elements from the musical. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This story has been previously published in Russian, and though we edit our translation, there still might be some mistakes. What you need to know before you start reading, is that we are big musical nerds, so a lot of characters are based on different Phantom, Christine and Raoul performers. Hope they are recognizable!**

 **Edited by angelofmusic9977 and daaeroses. Thank you so much!**

 **The prologue and the first chapter are a bit slow, but it's worth the waiting :) Enjoy and PLEASE review!**

* * *

The morning mist was so thick, that it made the bridge visible for only ten steps ahead. A strange phenomenon in Paris, especially in September. But it was a rainy year, and the morning was quite chilly, which was more common for November. It seemed that this winter could be long.

Five o'clock in the morning, and not a living soul on the streets. Within an hour, the usual pandemonium, so natural for the city center, will be spread over here like a wind. Carriages, people hastily heading to their business, street vendors … why, oh why does it always have to happen in this quarter?

They had to do everything quickly to avoid panic among people. There were a dozen police officers standing around, willing to stop whoever tried to pass on the Scribe street.

It wasn't the water that made pavement so slippery that day.

It still remained a mystery, what a madman could have done violence like this… and was he really mad? The person who left the message for the police of Paris was well aware of his deeds.

Perhaps he even knew a lot about human anatomy. How else he could pump out all blood from the body, to the last drop?

"Inspector!" a young officer shouted. "Inspector Quaste! It's time to leave!"

A man in his fifties, with a deeply concentrated face and white whiskers, rose from his knees. His assistant was right; they wouldn't find any more clues, and the sun is rising.

It was better to wash the blood off as soon as possible.

The victim was lying in a few steps from the largest pool of blood. It seemed that the killer, after finishing his repulsive deeds, dragged the woman down the street, holding her by the throat and leaving a bloody plume behind. And then he dropped her.

The woman's body has already stiffened. She was killed about two o'clock in the morning, right in time for the guard change. She was found just an hour ago.

In morning light the blood stains, that lay on the skin, appeared bluish black, like ink. Another spot covered the hair.

As usually, blond. Another distinctive sign, if not to say, killer's signature. He only killed blondes so far. Any blonde, from the white-haired albinos to the owners of honey-like curls.

But the age was different. Two weeks ago they found a very young one, while this lady was already touched with aging. Her face wasn't beautiful at all.

The victim's occupation wasn't hard to guess. The elusive killer wielded only at night, and he rarely assaulted decent women.

If Quaste only could, he would have issued a decree under which the prostitutes were forbidden to seek customers in the Opera district at night. But that was beyond his power.

Inspector was tired of this case. It started about one and a half years ago. Sometimes murders stopped for a few months, but the culprit remained elusive. Quaste was the best in his department, which is why he was assigned to the investigation, but even he could not find any clues.

"Inspector?" the assistant called again.

"Yes, yes," Quaste answered, dryly.

The body was loaded on the stretcher now.

 _That is pointless_ , Quaste wanted to say. Physicians won't find anything, none of the evidence. But that was the part of the protocol.

"He has been waiting for you," the young officer said.

Well, of course, Quaste thought, he always comes right in time.

The inspector turned. His assistant barely concealed his fear, his eyes pointing at the narrow passage between buildings.

There, in the dim light, was a bright spot; _a white mask_.

Quaste nodded slowly, as if saying something only two of them could know, and the mask disappeared into the darkness.

The sun finally rose, and the blood on the pavement became much brighter.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER I**

 _To Marguerite Firmin_

 _(Paris, Rue Auber)_

 _Dear cousin,_

 _I haven't sent you any letters for two months, but that's how it turned out. Music lessons took up all my time, but I greatly succeeded in all my studies. You are soon to discover it!_

 _Yes, sweetest Marguerite, we are going to meet soon and talk until we're tired, for the first time in years. I am writing to you for one simple reason, which, I hope, won't make you too sad._

 _About an hour ago I received a letter from my mother here, in academy. She says that yesterday our Uncle Firmin died in my parent's house, where he spent the last couple of months._

 _God knows, my mother thought that he was recovering thanks to the fresh air and calmness, but she was wrong … it is a huge shock for all of us._

 _Perhaps you noticed a few watery streaks on the paper. Sorry, but when I recall this letter, I can't help but cry again._

 _Remember how uncle Firmin drove us to the Opera Garnier, when we were just small girls? We were so impressed by this crown of Parisian architecture!_

 _How long have we glanced at the figures of angels and demons, and how fast we were running up and down the broad staircase, not afraid to fall… and what a great fun we had on New Year's Masquerade!_

 _I still recall those bizarre masks, colorful dresses and suits, a grand fireworks display!_

 _We stayed up all night, sitting on our beds, sharing impressions, and then wept bitterly when it was time to go home. You must remember all these wonderful moments!_

 _What a blow for me was the news of our uncle's death! The first few minutes I could not recover and finish reading the letter. I lost my mind._

 _It turned out, my dear Marguerite, that after the death of his co-owner of the Opera House, Monsieur Andre, Uncle Firmin prepared a new testament, in which he declared that the only heirs of the Grand Opera after his death, are us._

 _You know that uncle wasn't married. He treated us as his own children, and I cannot convey to you, how scared and at the same time pleased I was with his will._

 _We, who once marveled at the beauty of the Opera being just little girls, now become its owners! Not our parents, not our father, but us._

 _That is why, my dear sister, tomorrow I leave for Paris. Hopefully we can meet and discuss the inheritance. Before that, of course, we will have a formal meeting with the notary._

 _I admit that we take on a huge responsibility, it all must be carefully weighed. But I beg you; do not mourn for uncle, better pray for him. On this I finish my letter, kissing you and your mother._

 _Goodbye and see you soon,_

 _Caroline De' Blois_

 _P.S._

 _In the last letter, you said you are about to woo monsieur Carnee! But there were no details. Your wedding has already taken place? To be honest, I'm a little jealous that my younger (though only for two years) sister has married before me…_

 _Marseille, 12 September 1897_

 _..._

Marguerite quietly put the letter at the dressing table. Caroline asked her not to mourn, but her heart felt very heavy. It was harder than Marguerite had imagined.

She barely restrained herself from crying, because she did not want to disturb the peace of her mother's mind.

 _She's all on pins and needles_ , Marguerite thought, curling up into a ball on the couch and closing her watery eyes. _Since the wedding was canceled_.

The atmosphere of happy preparations still lived in their house. Friends from different parts of France still sent them postcards with congratulations, and the crystal vase with beautiful roses brought by monsieur Carnee three days ago still bloomed in the living room.

Her mother still could not bring herself to touch the festive charlotte, as if her daughter could change her mind in the last minute.

Marguerite had no courage to tell her that all the prepared dishes were a waste. Mother wouldn't understand.

Madame Firmin enjoyed engagement even more than her daughter did. She composed the guest list and sent out the invitation cards with great enthusiasm.

She altered her old wedding dress, so it could match the new fashion, and worked in the kitchen. In a word, she did not allow Marguerite to lift a finger, which irritated the bride.

Madame Firmin has done everything to make this wedding the triumph of the century. She even invited one of the main soloists of the Opera, an old friend of now deceased monsieur Firmin, so the soprano could sing something from her repertoire at the wedding feast.

And now daughter ruined everything. Not that Marguerite did not feel anything for Monsieur Carne, but she had an eerie feeling that marriage without love would be a torture. She was fluttered with the dream of romantic love and so on, which wasn't in her relationship with Carne.

In one beautiful moment, those dreams burst out, and Marguerite admitted that she did not want to marry.

This happened immediately after her fiancée kissed her under the yew tree in the garden.

Monsieur Carne decided that she was joking. Or that she said it in a bad mood. Or any other reason, purely feminine, of course.

But Marguerite wasn't kidding. She returned the ring with an apology. Later, of course, she had her doubts and regrets about the refusal.

First of all, because of pressure from the mother, who took the news about the cancellation of engagement as her personal tragedy.

Marguerite tried to remind herself that she felt absolutely nothing when Carnee kissed her. Wasn't that a sign?

She kept all misery inside and never shed a tear about the lost happiness and prosperity. But today, the tears streamed down, though not for the torn wedding.

"Mother!" she called, wiping salty drops from her cheeks.

The door opened a little, but the face Marguerite saw was not her mother's. It was her faithful servant Sophie.

"Your mother fell asleep, Mademoiselle. How can I help you?"

The maid immediately saw that Marguerite was weeping and was stunned into awkward silence.

"My uncle died," Marguerite explained. "And my cousin Caroline is heading to Paris. It is not necessary for you to wake my mother, dear Sophie, but you should prepare the guest room."

The maid softly moaned. "Ah, poor Monsieur Firmin, he wasn't that old. And he had so little gray hair," she murmured.

When they were children, Marguerite and Caroline met about twice a year and always spent time with their uncle. His company had always brought them great joy.

They loved his apartment, and the weekends spent at the Opera House, among the fragile dancers and chorus girls. Caroline constantly tried to repeat moves after dancers, and uncle laughed at her clumsiness.

He had a great laughter, and a bright, radiant light that fully reflected in his kind blue eyes. Marguerite remembered Uncle Firmin better than her own father, but now his face began to fade in her memories.

In the winter of 1876, she saw him and Caroline for the last time. Marguerite could only guess at what changes have occurred to her cousin over the years.

At the insistence of her mother, Marguerite lived and studied at the Monastery since she turned eleven, and when her time there was over, she continued to educate spiritually at home, read books, and embroider.

Caroline, on the other hand, lived in Marseilles, and all her education was drawn from hide-and-seek, fights with the neighborhood boys, climbing trees, and other nonsense.

She spent a lot of time at the pier, mostly lounging, and only three years ago she was brought into Marseille's Academy of Music, where, as she swears, they made her a little angel, that could delight the most capricious audience with her voice.

Really, Caroline's confidence in her was rather frightening at times, and Marguerite had no idea what could be said between them after such a long parting. At least, they won't talk about monsieur Carnee. At all.

 _Oh no!_ Marguerite assured herself. _We'll talk about Opera and come to some agreement._ _We'll recall our childhood and love each other just as we did before_.

Rising from the coach, she followed the maid to observe the cleaning. Everything had to be perfect.

...

Caroline, dressed in a light dress under a silk cape, went to Paris in a terribly shaking carriage, accompanied by her elder brother. She wanted to go alone, but her parents insisted on a companion.

Unmarried girls were never permitted to travel unless they were escorted either by a watchful brother or strict governess. Caroline had long grown out of governess presence, so she had no choice but to bring along Simon, who was twenty-two years old. He recently returned from England, where he spent a year studying confectionery in a college.

If Caroline spoke frankly, she would tell her parents that in Paris she wanted to rest from their constant pressure. But then this trip most likely would have been cancelled.

But as it turned out, the presence of her brother did not hurt much. Simon was quiet most of the time. Caroline could not tell if he fell asleep or just meditated with his eyes closed.

Like any other sister, she expressed genuine proud for her courageous brother, just as he was proud of her blooming beauty.

Caroline constantly thought, that if her brother decided to become a priest, his church would be full of young enamoured parishioners.

Sadly, her brother studied religion only as an optional subject.

 _Our confectioner_ , she thought joyfully, looking at his serene face. _It is necessary to watch out for him. There's so many pretty girls here, in Paris. He'll be caught in someone's love snare before he knows it._

When the cart stopped, Simon woke up. Caroline met his gaze with a gentle smile, which showed no trace of fatigue. She was full of energy.

Simon stretched, and a little crease appeared on his forehead.

"Are we there already?" he asked, still sleepy. Calm, friendly, albeit a little haggard expression altered his face. He slowly turned to look at the scenery outside the carriage window.

"Almost," she nodded. "Paris is undoubtedly one of the most stunning places in France".

Simon paused, thinking about something, and then agreed with her words, though he also added that London was even more beautiful.

"But tell me about Marguerite," he said. "I remember her as a little girl."

"I am afraid that's all I can remember as well. When we last saw each other, we both were so plain. But time is favorable to girls, Simon."

"Only for some time," her brother smiled. "Twenty years later you will no longer think that."

Caroline snorted and rolled her eyes.

At this moment, the driver alerted the couple that they finally arrived. Caroline skeptically glanced over the house in front of which the carriage stopped.

Her thought hung in the air and was picked up by Simon.

They did not think that the Firmin family lived in such modesty. The house stood on a wide street with pear trees, surrounded by real palaces, and completely lost in their shadow.

Caroline was ashamed that her relatives put up with such a vulgar, boring housing.

"Doesn't that place seems…"

"Very nice" Simon replied cautiously. "Remember, my dear, that we are guests."

"Don't worry, I am well acquainted with the manners. But agree, the house is just awful!"

"Hush, Caroline"

Marguerite already noticed the approaching carriage, standing by the window. Soon the door opened in front of guests and their cousin smiled excitedly.

She wore a simple dark blue dress, her hair tied with a black ribbon, all in the sign of mourning.

Caroline flapped her eyelashes and climbed the stairs, majestic, as usual, and Margo kissed her on both cheeks.

"My lovely sister!" Caroline laughed. "I'm happy to see you in good health. You're really prettier than I recall. But you should know it yourself. Oh, I brought a wedding gift. Simon, would you please ..."

Marguerite gestured for her to stop and not to guiltily explained:

"There's no need for any gifts, Caroline. I'm not getting married."

"Oh" Caroline managed to say significantly. "But why?"

Marguerite noticed a nice young man standing next to her sister. He wasn't tall, although she was much shorter, and he had chubby cheeks.

He definitely wasn't a lady-killer or a book hero, but he evoked sympathy at the first sight. His gray eyes shone with kindness and reliability.

Marguerite gasped.

"You did not warn me ... you didn't told me that you are taking someone with you," she murmured, giving Caroline a dismayed look "We prepared just one bedroom. More precisely, we _only_ have one guest room. I'm so sorry..."

Simon finally smiled. He went up the stairs and stopped at one level below his two cousins.

In truth, Simon was much more surprised and confused than the young mistress. Instead of rather clumsy little girl, he saw a young lady with a charming petite figure and large, attentive eyes.

"Let me introduce myself, mademoiselle," he said, bowing. Marguerite noted that he had a certain grace and his voice was pleasant. "I am Simon Leroux."

"Are you?" There was disbelieving in Marguerite's voice. "I remember you very ... different. Forgive me for not recognizing you."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, mademoiselle" Simon smiled again. "I would not have recognized you either."

The mistress apologized for the absence of a suitable room for Simon again, but her cousin meekly shrugged.

"Do not worry. I can stay at the hotel!"

"But that's very expensive", Marguerite said. "No, no, it's better if I would share my room with Caroline, and you will take the guest one. Would you like it?"

"Absolutely."

And that's what they decided. Caroline happily clung to her sister, and they went into the hall together.

Caroline was chirping like a bird. She could speak on all topics, jumping from one to another, completely confusing the interlocutor at the end, although everything she said was very interesting and smart.

Marguerite had to leave her for a moment to show Simon his bedroom. The young man thanked her warmly for the hospitality and asked if he could rest after the long journey.

Sisters spent the rest of the day together. In time for dinner they were joined by Madame Firmin.

She questioned Caroline about her study in the music academy so willingly that Marguerite unwittingly envied their easy communication. Most of all she was afraid that Caroline will bring the dangerous subject of marriage again.

If Margo could consign the story of her and Monsieur Carne to oblivion, she would have most certainly destroyed every thought, every memory.

While her mother preferred to complain on each occasion. She sincerely believed that the number of those who heard her tragedy and imbued with it could harmonize her mental balance.

"Of course, you must know" Madame Firmin started confidentially. "What a wonderful admirer Marguerite acquired a few months ago."

"Oh, yes," Caroline snapped her fingers. "I forgot about the wedding gift. I wonder where we put it, Simon..."

Marguerite sighed.

"I have already said that I am not getting married. We decided to stay as good friends, monsieur Carne and I."

"In a terrible circumstances," Madame Firmin admitted, taking a handkerchief from her corsage and gently pressing it to her eyes. "Oh, Caroline. Never before our family had to deal with such humiliation. After all, Carne had not even forced her to return gifts, but Marguerite laid it all back into wrappings - even the most beautiful necklace, a gift from the very beginning of the courting. She sent all these things to his home address. Nasty. Tell me, would you do the same in her place?"

Caroline moved her lips thoughtfully, unable to find a suitable answer, but Madame Firmin didn't actually needed one. She sighed and continued her melancholy outpourings, waving her thin arms from time to time.

"I'm trying to explain Marguerite that she is foolish. What a mad thing to do! And she knows - men are not attracted to the obstinate, they sidestep abandoned and trampled women!"

"I'm not the nasty, mother" Margo whispered, lowering her head. She felt like the huge thunder cloud hung right above her. It was the most horrid feeling she ever had.

Caroline stared at her sister, and then gently and naturally shifted the subject, starting to ask whether Paris was always so cold.

Later Marguerite realized that this maneuver was not a fluke. When she found out about the resourcefulness of her sister, for the first time in a day she thought that they might really come to understand each other.

And maybe they could become great managers together.

"After all, the art is so wonderful!" Marguerite thought enthusiastically, helping the maid to clear the table after the meal. With the same thought, she went to bed.


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER II**

"It's just awful" Caroline realized, as she watched the stage of the Grand Opera, which was fully employed in the rehearsal for the new production of _Hannibal_. Caroline loved that piece, she expected to see an outstanding performance. But she hardly imagined anything like this!

All the dance movements were messed up; the ballet could not finish their part in time, so the chorus girls constantly bumped into singers, once they entered the stage.

Carlotta Gudichelli, who was the leading soprano for too many seasons, seemed to have an excellent vocal technique, but she entirely forgot to put her soul into singing, and her voice was too dark and heavy. Ubaldo Piangi, the tenor, was even worse with his tinny tone, but Caroline did not pay much attention to him.

And though Caroline tried to find something delightful in the current situation, she couldn't help but wonder why she can't just stand up and walk off the auditorium, leaving everything on Marguerite. But she knew such decision wouldn't be fair.

And so they suffered together. As for monsieur Leroux, he was silent at first, all business and wary, but somewhere in the middle of rehearsal he became bored and fell asleep in his chair. The thunderclaps of Carlotta's voice did not disturb his peace. Unbelievable!

While listening to the _Hannibal_ 's prologue again and again, cousins were exchanging sullen looks. Finally, it was over, and they clapped a little.

Carlotta smiled radiantly, thanking them in Italian on repeat, which none of the headmistress could estimate. However, soprano's feigned friendliness had disappeared as soon as one of the chorus girls has stepped on her skirt.

"I think she has a terrible temper," Marguerite whispered into Caroline's ear, glancing at the scandalous Primadonna.

"She's a diva," Caroline snorted. "But listen to her voice. She only has a technique. Nothing more. And that, you know, is the worst thing."

"Are they done yet?" Simon sighed and stretched, as if nothing had happened.

Madame Giry, who accompanied them on a tour in the Opera, looked unpleased with such disinterest. Collected, statuesque, she led them through the corridors, occasionally opened the doors to the dressing rooms and gave a further commentary.

Caroline absorbed everything Madame said, but she was mainly admiring the Opera and its greatness.

Marguerite asked some questions. Something about the finances, the salary of leading soprano and other things.

She yearned to learn everything the managers might need in the future, and thus fulfilled her duty.

"And now," Madame Giry said, "I'll take you to the office. Your sponsors have appointed a meeting with you at one o'clock. Excuse me, but you only have fifteen minutes left. Sponsors are promising young people from great families, so you have to appear worthily before them. I'd add that we certainly arrange invitations for the Hannibal premiere for them."

"They haven't seen the rehearsal, did they?" Caroline smirked.

Madame Giry paused for a moment, hesitated. Her eyebrows raised quickly and just as quickly straightened.

"No, but if you think it's necessary to..."

"On the contrary," Caroline replied, and Marguerite could not help but nod in agreement. "Let them wait until the premiere. The production needs a lot of improvement."

Madame Giry crossed her arms, her lips became a thin thread.

"Well, rehearsals are still very raw... We'll have time to work on the... incarnation."

She picked up a very accurate word. Young mistresses looked at each other. The next few months, they guessed, will be the most difficult. Disastrously complicated, if they won't come up with a good financial plan...

Otherwise, the theater would be on the verge of closing.

Madame Giry escorted them to the office and, with a slow nod, withdrew. This old woman in a simple crepe gown made a huge impression on both cousins.

It seemed Madame belonged to that kind of person, who was obsessed with their work. At least, that's how it looked like.

Simon opened the door, and as they walked into a spacious, well-furnished room.

After they took a little break (Madame Giry sent the youngest ballerina to bring them cold snacks and tea), they began to count the minutes until the sponsors' appearance.

Finally the heavy oak door opened and the porter entered the room.

"Monsieur Robert Gugot!" he announced.

Marguerite's breath got caught. The man who came into the office was truly charming, well into his twenties.

He was tall, lean and broad-shouldered. His eyes were the colour of blue cobalt and at the moment fixed on Caroline's face.

She walked toward, holding her hand out for the greeting.

"I'm Caroline De' Blois" she introduced herself. "The new mistress of the Opera."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle de Blois", the man answered, kissing her hand. "You must know that I am one of the sponsors."

"Of course."

"I was told that the Opera has two new managers" he replied. "Can I get to know the other one?"

Marguerite slowly realized that he hadn't noticed her yet. It offended her. By all means, she wasn't _that_ small! However, Simon could easily enclose her with his figure.

"Yes," Caroline nodded and smiled at Monsieur Gugot as she had been taught at the Music Academy. Graciously, with a little surprise and a hint of sympathy. "Allow me to introduce my cousin..."

"Mademoiselle Firmin?" Monsieur Gugot asked in disbelieve.

"You know me?" Marguerite asked quietly.

"I ..." he hesitated. "I've heard things about you."

Caroline frowned. Marguerite flushed and looked away in embarrassment.

Of course, he had heard! All Paris gossiped about her canceled wedding with Monsieur Carnee. Ashamed family, stained young bride ... It cannot be forgotten so quickly.

However, now the Parisians had another gossip to discuss. The same girl who disgraced herself, decided, instead of burying her head in the ground, hiding in the province, or taking the veil, took control over the theatre!

And not just any theatre, the pride of Paris, the Opéra Garnier!

The world couldn't think of the mistress more worthy, they mocked.

"But excuse me," Robert Gugot spoke again. "In any case, I am infinitely glad to meet you and ready for future cooperation."

Goosebumps ran down her spine when he kissed her hand. This gesture had no overtones, only politeness; but Marguerite felt the fever, then coldness, and it took all her effort to concentrate again.

She heard the voice of Simon, who was slightly forgotten because of such guest.

"I am the brother of these two fair ladies, Simon Leroux," he shook the hand of the young sponsor, and Robert nodded.

The guest was offered some snacks, but he quickly refused. Cousins sat down and tried to collect their thoughts. For a while all four people exchanged silent glances and intense smiles.

Finally, Robert spoke.

"The second sponsor is my good friend, and you can rely on him," Monsieur Gugot promised. "However, he is delayed for a few days because of the personal matter, I ask you to forgive him."

Caroline smiled knowingly.

"And one more question," Robert continued with a sudden frown. "Tell me, what do you intend to do with this place? You're probably aware of the terrible rumors..."

"Rumors?" Caroline winced. "I do not believe in any rumors. The theater needs the right management, and it will receive it under our commands. Once again it will stage the best productions of the most famous composers, you'll see."

"It will take time," Marguerite added. "But all gossips shall disappear. They are groundless."

Simon coughed uncertainly. Monsieur Gugot glanced at him and made an inviting hand gesture, giving the boy a word.

"What do _you_ think about this?" he asked.

In fact, Caroline did not understand what was the reason Robert asked them these strange questions. With the future still undecided, it was hard to make any statements.

Neither she nor Marguerite was particularly interested in the mysterious rumors floating in the Opera House. Of course, they noticed that the whole cast looked tensed, as if at any moment they expected sacred fire to burn this place up.

This irrational fear of Opera company caused Caroline to think about the nature of these rumors.

"I'm not sure whether you can discuss something you do not know," Simon admitted. "Please, explain, what did you mean beyond these "terrible rumors." It's our first day here, and so far, fortunately, nothing eerie or unusual happened."

Monsieur Gugot paused and wiggled his nodules thoughtfully.

Then he leaned forward, and a smile, which appeared on his thin lips, seemed alarming to Marguerite, just as the words he spoke.

"So you do not know. Let me ask you, how you interpreted my question?"

"Many believe," Caroline shrugged. "There's a curse casted upon the Opera House. It burned twice. The first time during the construction, and the second - in the hour of its glory. Strange things happen here often."

Marguerite added hastily:

"But now it's all over."

"You are wrong, mademoiselle", Robert answered dejectedly. "I was talking about the Phantom of the Opera from the very beginning. If you really intend to manage the theater, you have to ask others about this very interesting character. I thought, that you are full of courage ... Now it's clear to me," He rose up from the table. "The rumors of a ghost won't leave you indifferent. Since the adult men failed to conjure it, fragile girls are out of question. You'll just expose yourself to danger and create some new unflattering rumors." Suddenly Margo realized that he was talking to her. "However, one of you has nothing to lose. Good day."

Simon frowned, his eyes were darker than night. Without saying a word, Caroline walked the sponsor to the office's exit, and then gently closed the door behind him.

A few minutes later Marguerite was able to watch as Gugot got into his personal carriage. As soon as the carriage disappeared around the corner, she slammed her fist on the table.

"I should have married Carnee," she said. "Then there won't be these little smiles, these oil looks, telling that I am... I am ...

There was no need in continuation.

"Oh, dear cousin," Caroline replied. "It's all nonsense, is not worthy of your attention and shred."

"It's not nonsense" Simon added seriously. "But we know that you are pure as the first snow, and your conscience is clear, too, and you are..."

He paused and blushed. Then he muttered something about the bottle of water and left the room.

Caroline smirked.

"At least you have one potential admirer" she said with a wink. "What is there to be sad about?"

"Well, _that_ is nonsense" Marguerite replied gently, but her cheeks flushed nicely. "You're such a matchmaker, you should be ashamed! Constantly hinting me about your wonderful brother. I rejected Monsieur Carnee for my overpriced ideals! I didn't think that everything will be so bad."

Caroline shook her head.

"But you've already done it, so stop recalling it. Now you are the owner of the Opera. If we arrange all things, you will become an enviable bride."

Cousins hugged each other, while thinking different thoughts. Marguerite doubted they can make things work out, and Caroline was highly assured of their brilliant future.

...

 _He_ 's been listening to the shrill of female voices coming from the manager's office. At first _he_ thought _he_ only imagined it. Yes, _he_ knew that the Opera will soon have new owners, but _he_ wasn't prepared to believe it was two young girls.

Even _his_ magnificent hearing could only make out a few words, so _he_ understood a little.

 _Who was this mysterious observer? .._

Just a ghost. Mystification. A rumor, as Caroline called him.

 _He_ heard these words surprisingly well, it made _him_ grin. What else could a young girl assume, with all the disbelief and skepticism peculiar to females.

Indeed, women either just believed in something way too much, or have been deaf to the bitter end, and trusted their own eyes only.

It seemed these two ladies belonged to the second category. Well, it won't be hard to convince them of the existence of the Phantom of the Opera.

The first move will be made right now.

...

"Just Imagine" Caroline continued selflessly. "Almost every evening we will gather the toffs here. And we will be able to contemplate the supreme Parisian light without any hesitation, because all of this belongs to us!"

Suddenly, as if in response to her words, the candelabrums, filling the room with light, began to fade one after another. The manager's office plunged into semi-darkness.

Then something thundered loudly - a huge portrait of a confidently smiling Firmin and Andre fell to the ground. Caroline screamed and grabbed Marguerite's hand.

"What was that, Margo?" she asked, as if her cousin knew the answer.

"I don't know ..." Marguerite relied in a broken voice, she was scared as well.

"Let's call Simon!"

"Simon? Just because the lights went out and the picture fell! He will laugh at us!"

There was a knock at the door. The girls looked at each other and shuddered.

"It must be Simon himself, running here because you squealed so much", Marguerite said.

Caroline stood up and hastily marched to the door. She opened it, but there was no one in the corridor.

Candelabrums hissed and flared up a clear flame again. Marguerite blinked and rubbed her eyes.

She had never seen anything like this before.

Caroline sighed.

"Probably the wind."

"... Lit them?" Her cousin raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Caroline, it does not happen this way."

"We really have to find my brother and go home. It's enough horror stories for today."

"What about _Hannibal_ rehearsals?

"Didn't you have enough?" Caroline snorted. "No, we will deal with rehearsals tomorrow."

Marguerite rose from her chair and walked over to Caroline. She looked at the portrait lying in a corner.

"We'll call someone to fix it," she sighed. "Honestly, I'm a little uncomfortable with the fact that their portrait is still hanging here. Two dead men in one room - a bit too much, don't you think?"

Marguerite silently stepped out of the office, and then gasped - a white envelope with a black rim slowly dropped to her feet.

"What's this?" Caroline asked.

"Hmm..." Marguerite murmured, looking up. She did not see any hint which made it clear where the letter came from. "I do not understand."

"Out of the frying-pan and into the fire. What should we do about it?"

"Probably, just read it" Marguerite said. She lifted the envelope from the floor and came to the light. Caroline looked over her shoulder.

"Have you ever seen such a strange seal?" Margo asked, eyeing the red cast of a skull.

"No, and I do not like it. It's not elegant!"

Leaving her without answer, Marguerite opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper with a black platter, scribbled in a red ink.

...

 _Dear ladies_ , they read, _I could not bring myself to call you the "managers". You are still so young and so inexperienced ... I think you need some kind of guidance in the management of the Opera. Tomorrow morning, in the director's office, on the table you will find detailed instructions on how to run my theater._

 _With best wishes,_

 _O.G_

 _..._

Caroline and Marguerite gazed at each other. They both looked alarmed. However, in less than a moment Caroline giggled and offered to pay no attention to that silly paper.

"That's some absurdity," she smiled. "Come on, I have a feeling that Simon is lost."

"So strange" Marguerite said, clutching a letter in her hand and reading it on the go. "I mean, who is that Opera Ghost..."

"Threats, attempts to bring us out of the temper," Caroline complained, waving her hands and sticking out her chin, and then added "I think I dislike that terrible woman in black".

"What?" Margo was surprised. "Madame Giry? Don't be silly, she is an ordinary woman, and loves her job."

"Even more suspicious! Even more!"

"So, do you think she doesn't like us?"

An evil laughter rang from somewhere above. It rose in the air like an echo, and rustled around the room so ominously that girls shivered. Marguerite's eyes narrowed.

"Well, _now_ how do you explain this?"

"Some of the workers are having fun" Caroline shrugged. "They test our durability. We should not indulge their silly tricks that easily. Anyway, tomorrow I shall announce that any joker will be fired to the end of the week. This should cool them down a little."

A few minutes later, they walked in silence through the endless corridors.

"Wicked Caroline got down to business" Marguerite finally spoke. "How do I adore it, lovely Cara, when you decide to apply a drop of your precious mind."

"I'll pretend I did not heard that."

Finally, they were in the main lobby, where Simon waited for them. He asked if girls had settled down in their office and how they liked the Opera.

The cousins did not tell Monsieur Leroux about their adventures, confining with weak nods.

At home, while changing her clothes for supper, Marguerite once again turned to Caroline with her worrying issue.

"Do you really think we can stop this?" Margo asked, sighing.

"I do not wonder about it," Caroline shook her head. "I know it for sure!"


	4. Chapter 3

**Yes! That's a new chapter :) And the Phantoms are finally appearing in this one!**

 **For everyone who commented on relation between Marguerite, Caroline and Simon - they are all cousins, but as we don't like to use the same word so often, we're going to call them "brother" and "sister" sometimes.**

 **Now, as we found a professional translator, we would really need your review to see if it's worth the efforts. So please, read and review. That means A LOT!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER II**

 _To Maria Leroux_

 _(Marseille, Drule St., Leroux family mansion)_

 _Dear mother,_

 _It is already two weeks since Caroline and I have arrived to Paris. And this city doesn't cease to surprise me. It's so noisy, fast and dynamic! I'm used to absolutely different things, I love Marseille. And Caroline seems to enjoy this madness. She visits every ball and reception she's invited to. I have no idea how she manages to do it._

 _Though I love my cousin a lot, I still get tired of her a little. But the second owner of the Opera, mademoiselle Marguerite Firmin, is completely different._

 _She was born and grew up in Paris and satiated with all its delights long ago. She's going through all manager's duties, while Caroline is increasing the prestige of the Opera. She's very skillful at conducting papers and signing contracts, I should say! Sometimes I help her with her work, and her education, erudition and logic surprises me. This distant relative is a truly marvelous girl!_

 _The Opera now has two sponsors. They are monsieur William Fairfax and monsieur Robert Gugot. One of them, as you, probably, realized, is the Englishman and hasn't arrived to Paris yet. He has some urgent matters in London. But I has had an opportunity to get acquainted with the other one, and he is extremely unpleasant to my point of view!_

 _He clearly tries to prove the two owners of the Opera that they are incapable to achieve any success in managing the theatre only because they are women, you see. But has he ever seen mademoiselle Firmin working? Never! She looks fragile and helpless, but she only seems so from the first sight._

 _Moreover, this monsieur is certainly under the influence of his own directly offends her! Poor mademoiselle suffers a lot, but never shows it._

 _I will meanwhile remain in Paris. Caroline and I live in mademoiselle Firmin and her mother's house now. But they seem pretty poor, and I intend to rent an apartment soon. You don't need to send me any money, dear mother. I will deal with it myself._

 _Hug father for me and tell him that I'm not going to army for now. Caroline really needs me._

 _Your loving son,_

 _Simon_

Someone knocked at the door of the room that Simon had occupied.

"Come in!" he said. It was the only servant of Firmins, who was their maid, cook and messenger at the same time.

"Breakfast is served, Mr. Leroux," she said. "You are being waited downstairs".

"I'm coming," Simon nodded and stood up from his desk. He wanted to put a just written letter in a drawer, but then changed his mind. "Are you going to the post office today? As far as I know, Caroline was going to send some letters. Could you send this one too? I will be very grateful".

The servant nodded, took the envelope and disappeared on the stairs.

All of the current inhabitants of the Firmins' House had already gathered in a small dining room on the ground floor. Caroline was eloquently telling something to Madame Firmin, with animated gestures.

Madame was listening attentively with her eternal friendly smile. Equal for all but her own daughter, who had fallen out of favor.

Marguerite was sitting apart, lost deep in her thoughts. Simon noticed that the food on her plate was almost untouched.

"Good morning," said Simon, addressing everyone in the room. Madame Firmin and Caroline greeted in return. And Marguerite raised her head, absently looking through him.

Convinced that his cousin and Marguerite's mother were still captured with their conversation, Simon sat near Marguerite.

"Are you upset about something?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing," she replied.

"But still?" Simon insisted.

Marguerite looked around, making sure that no one was able to overhear them, and then replied:

"In the morning I received a letter, saying that I'm not worthy and I cannot run the Opera. Anonymous, of course…"

"Do you have any idea who could have sent it?"

"I do. I think it's from Robert Gugot. But I have never received any letters from him before and I don't know his manner of writing. So I cannot tell for sure"

"I can find it out for you, Marguerite, if you wish" Simon whispered, as Caroline was looking at them.

Marguerite smiled, and the young man's heart skipped a beat. He had noticed before these beautiful, perky sparks flashing in her eyes when she smiled.

"Thank you, Simon" She said, patting him on the arm. "I can't imagine, what I would do without your help. I would have locked at home, hiding and crying"

She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and gave it to Simon. He quickly hid the letter in his breast pocket, catching Caroline's surprised look.

Caroline kept her eyes on Simon and Marguerite during the whole breakfast. Margo realized that and stopped smiling, which made Simon very upset, as he was catching her every move with deep admiration. He tried to start a conversation, but she didn't support it. He tried to cheer her up, but she didn't smile.

He pushed her chair, offered his help – but she refused.

Simon was dragged out from thoughts about Marguerite's sorrows by Caroline, who came up to him and said in a low voice:

"You don't lose your time, brother, do you? Exchanging looks, whispering, love notes…"

"It's not a love note", Simon answered angrily.

Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, sure. Then what is it? You have hidden this paper so passionately!"

"She will tell you if she wants" Simon replied. "And now excuse me, sister, I have something important to do at the Opera".

.

The man in the cloak left a scarlet rose with black ribbon in the headboard of one of the singers went through the mirror, smiling to himself. Every week he went on this small journey from his underground apartment to the chorus girls' dorm. Though they guessed what time the Phantom of the Opera visited their room, they could do nothing. At that time they had rehearsals under the guidance of Madame Giry. So he, though not too cautious, remained unnoticed.

The way back was through an endless maze, in which the Phantom knew every trap and every corridor. Any other person, if got it here, would not have found the exit and certainly would have met his death. In some tunnels torches lit the path, others remained in total darkness. But moving in this darkness was not the worst obstacle to the secret hideout.

The Phantom truly feared only the lake – something that lived there didn't obey any laws. Occasionally the creature filled the space with raucous scream, similar to the sound of hundreds of bursting crystal balls and weeping violins. The Phantom hated that sound. He feared to see the outlines in the cold waters. A fish, or…

No time to think about it. Especially today, when the lake was calm. The man sailed it over and climbed out of the boat, looking warily at the surface of the murky water. When he stepped on the old, pitted stone tiles, he heard someone's annoyed voice.

"Have you gone to the surface again?"

The Phantom lifted his head and grimaced. For several weeks, his humble visits to the Opera remained a mystery for the Voice. But now everything had to start over.

Notations and warnings, sermons and requests, which made him feel that he wasn't a terrible ghost, whom many inhabitants of the Opera feared, but a naughty boy.

The most offensive thing was that the appearance of the Voice reminded him that there was more than one master in these dungeons.

"I haven't been seen" the Phantom said peacefully, impatiently shifting from foot to foot. "But _I_ 've seen a lot".

"I hate to repeat" said the Voice, "That chorus girls won't change their opinion on your person, no matter how many roses you leave on their dresser".

"You cannot know that for sure," the Phantom snapped. "And I do not recommend you interfere in my personal case".

A man in an elegant black cloak, the same as that of the Phantom's, stepped out from the shadow. He stopped in front the Phantom, and, for a moment, both froze amidst the wet walls and dense fog, looking at each other.

Both dressed in black, tall and broad. But the owner of the Voice was higher and more impressive. His ideal posture, way of speaking and behavior - all exuded confidence, which O.G. could not even dream of.

"If they really were personal" replied the Voice coldly. "But I do not care".

"So," the Ghost folded his arms, "You do not want to know what is happening in the Opera?"

The man in a dark cloak looked at him tiredly.

"You may try. But you will not tell me anything new".

"Firmin died. The Opera now has new managers".

The Voice winced.

"Yesterday's news. Is that all?"

"They are young women," Phantom's green eyes flashed triumphantly. "Firmin's nieces".

The Voice trailed off for a moment. Then he shook his head sympathetically.

"Probably, there were no men in France, who are ready to take this post, and women had to do it themselves. At this rate, the Opera will be closed soon. What can you say about these persons?"

"They know nothing about managing the Opera".

"It is natural".

"Sponsors are against them".

"And this is not surprising".

The men were silent for a bit. The Ghost slyly looked at the figure in black, then added quietly:

"They are quite beautiful".

The Voice sighed.

"That is absolutely not our business. Now promise me to end these senseless wanderings and do something that really matters. Music," The figure threw up his hands in the air and played some beautiful passages. "And I need to go. I have already spent too much time on you".

"Here, time barely crawls," The Phantom complained. "I do not want to sit constantly in these catacombs. And the music... I cannot listen to it anymore!"

The owner of the Voice suddenly spoke sharply:

"You chose this life yourself! Do not go on the rampage, Destler. Otherwise next time you will have to report to someone more high powered..."

.

"Hurry up, cousin," exclaimed Caroline, adjusting her hat. "We are being late".

Walking along the Scribe Street, she constantly turned around to see if her cousin was keeping pace with her. They were already late for five minutes. Caroline could imagine how bad was the mood of Monsieur Gugot and the second sponsor, Mr. Fairfax, who were awaiting them.

Frankly speaking, Caroline was extremely excited about the upcoming meeting. By the third week in Paris she cooled down, and the metropolitan life now seemed to her somewhat monotonous.

At first she was penetrating every conversation at receptions and became acquainted with everyone who came to her eyes. But now she was bored.

The meeting with the rich and well-mannered English lord, as Caroline imagined him, could at least cheer her up a little. That was the reason why she was so nervous and in a hurry.

Margo felt much calmer in any negotiations with the sponsors. She promised herself that she would close her eyes to the strange looks of Monsieur Gugot and would keep on the level until the end of the meeting.

She chose the most humble her dress on purpose, and her hair was brushed up. No one would dare to rebuke her appearance.

Deep in her heart, Margo thought that it was strange and absurd to worry so much about other people's opinion, but she could not help it.

"If Simon was with us," Caroline complained, turning to look at her cousin, "We would have left on time. He always keeps track of time. And _what the hell_..."

At that moment a young man in a suit and with a cane went out of the corner. Marguerite opened her mouth to warn her sister, but it was too late - Caroline bumped into him and gasped, dropping her parasol.

The man frowned. Caroline did the same, and then stepped back.

"Such expressions," the gentleman noted dryly, "Do not seem to be in the lexicon of ladies".

Something in his reprimand strained Margo, but she could not identify what it was.

Caroline was not moving; she seemed to have forgotten all her haste and was looking hostility at the stranger. Slow and deep breathing slightly expanded her delicate nostrils.

She obviously did not find what to say.

The Englishman quickly bent towards her, and, stooping down, picked up a white lace parasol. Giving it back to the culprit of the incident, he looked as if through her, and remained perfectly calm.

Marguerite looked at her cousin, who seemed as if she turned into a stone. She was badly tortured by this inability to respond to this biting remark. At least, she could not think of anything witty. She knew that it was better to keep silent, if the answer was not worth it.

"Thank you," she said, forcing a smile.

Margo wondered, _was not her sister just burning the Englishman with the look full of hate?_

"You do not have to thank me," the man said, staring at her directly and openly. "Any other well-bred man would return you your parasol, mademoiselle. As for your gratitude, it is sophisticated".

"Sophisticated or not," Caroline shrugged, "But you put me in an awkward situation and now I have to respond politely" She copied his relaxed tone. "Like any other well-bred Frenchwoman. In addition, I am very glad that I did not have to pick up the parasol myself. With so many skirts it is an absolutely impossible task, monsieur".

The Englishman seemed intrigued. One of his eyebrows raised slightly, and then he chuckled.

"Well, we're even".

"We need to go," Caroline nodded, walking past him.

To cousins' surprise the man went after them. Since he was only four steps behind them, a relatively short distance, the cousins could not consult about his behavior.

"He isn't stalking us, is he?" Caroline whispered.

"I do not know," Margo shook her head.

Caroline remembered about the time and inadvertently quickened her walk, trying to quickly pass the suspicious person.

But the gentleman looked at his watch and drew ahead of the cousins. Soon he was walking up the stairs of the main entrance of the Opera.

Caroline looked at Margo with horror. Her cheeks became red.

"No," she said. "It cannot be truth. It's nonsense".

"It's him" whispered Marguerite. "It's Mr. Fairfax, or whatever his name is".

Not believing her eyes, Caroline stared at the one whom she first took as an ordinary passer-by. And he met her gaze with his former coldness.

Realizing that the women were also going to the Opera, the Englishman held the door for them.

"It's too early for visits," he said. "Performances begin at seven, and the booking offices are located on the other side".

"We work here," Caroline said, entering the Grand Foyer.

Marguerite quickly caught up with her, not daring to look into the eyes of the Englishman. Their colour, light blue, reminded her of the same mocking eyes of Monsieur Gugot.

"Remarkable", the sponsor said enthusiastically. "Then you know where I can find the managers' office. I have an appointment".

"Well, of course," Caroline answered in the same light manner. "Here, please".

They had already passed half of the way and were walking up the main staircase, where stumbled on Madame Giry. She gave a disgruntled look to arrogant Caroline and chose to refer to Marguerite.

"Monsieur Gugot have been waiting for you both in the office for half an hour, ladies. He was about to leave already. You are very late, it is not appropriate for the managers of the Opera".

Marguerite nodded dutifully, but Caroline intervened:

"I dare say that you are not our governess, Madame Giry. If Monsieur Gugot wants to leave, well, we'll find another sponsor. Nobody holds him. In addition, he is extremely impolite to us".

The Englishman behind them coughed softly. She turned to him.

"Sorry to interrupt the conversation," he said, "But... Are you the managers of the Opera?"

"That is true," Caroline smiled charmingly. "And I must say, Mr. Fairfax, that you proved yourself to be a much more positive person than our first sponsor".

With that, she pushed the door of the managers' office. Gugot was already there, and, what was the strangest thing, Simon was with him.

They stood on opposite sides of the table and looked at each other extremely unfriendly.

"I think, Monsieur," Caroline had time to hear the voice of her brother, "That you will be much more cautious, sending..."

But then he noticed the others and immediately fell silent.

"Let me introduce you, ladies and gentlemen, our new sponsor, Mr. William Fairfax," Caroline said, realizing that Margo was going to keep silent until the end of the meeting.

"I'm glad that you finally finished your business," getting up towards the Englishman, said Rober Gugot. "I hope, there will be no problems anymore".

"We'll talk about it later," Fairfax shortly answered.

He shook hands with Simon, and they exchanged greetings, as if evaluating one another. Meanwhile, Marguerite quietly, like a ghost, went to the table and pulled out some papers and the contract out of the drawer.

"Mr. Fairfax," she called, and the Englishman turned to her, as if trying to figure out who it was. "Sign, please, here, here and here".

Marguerite handed him a pen and ink and walked closer to Simon. Caroline saw them talking softly about something, but did not understand what was being said:

"Have you managed to learn something?"

"He denies everything, but I swear to you that I get a sample of his handwriting".

Realizing that today her precious cousin is going to dump all managerial duties at her, Caroline turned to Fairfax with the same unchanging smile:

"Would you like to watch at the rehearsal of the opera?"

He shook his head.

"I prefer to watch performances, not the rehearsals".

Caroline bit her lip. The conversation did not go well. The damn Englishman seemed to cut off her escape route on purpose.

 _'_ _I think I've got my own Rober Gugot,_ ' she thought. ' _But I am not_ _my sister._ _And will not let anyone mock on me_ _'_

"You still have to get acquainted with the company and the employees of the theater. Madame Giry offered to arrange a small private reception this evening in honor of the opening of the Opera. You're all invited," she said, referring to all at once.

The sponsors said goodbye to them and headed for the exit. When the door was closed behind them, Caroline turned to Simon.

"Brother, leave us alone for a minute, please".

Simon left the room immediately. At such moments, Caroline really loved her brother. She coped with the sudden attack of tenderness, she looked at Margo with reproach, but the cousin did not show, if she understood what the conversation would be about.

"Dear sister," Caroline sighed. "I'm starting to worry about your health. You're always quiet, and now even pale. Are you sure you are not sick?"

"You know," Marguerite humbly replied, "That my disease has a human name".

"Monsieur Carnee?"

"Why should I need him! I think of him only in nightmares. Moreover, my mother has been criticizing me constantly since then. No, this person is none of my concern".

She was sitting still with her head down, looking at her hands, closing his fingers and opening. But from her tight shoulders Caroline knew that Margo was frantically considering her further actions.

The poor girl did not know where to hide from her mistakes. And how was she to forget it all, if all the surrounding reminded that Mademoiselle Firmin has lost her honor for good?..

Caroline shook her head. No one could handle this long.

"Perhaps," she said gently, "If you appear at the reception and be clever and charming, your Monsieur Gugot's mutual hostility over each other will be over within an hour. Of course, you have to follow my advice and smile friendly, but..."

Marguerite moved a little.

"I'm not going anywhere".

"Sorry, what?"

"I'd rather sit at home. Reading a book in front of the fireplace is perfect to me. But acting at receptions... You're better in such kind of things…"

Caroline could not believe her ears. The last few weeks Marguerite listened to strangers happily vilify her good name, and she seemed to be possessed by anger, a desire for justice.

But instead of doing something about it, she allowed a monstrous libel reign. Caroline did not understand and refused to understand...

"Your plan is not perfect," Margo said seriously. "If someone sees me dancing with Monsieur Gugot, there will appear a lot of rumors about him either".

"He is _a man_ ," Caroline rolled her eyes. "For them it as a compliment. Rumors can destroy a woman, but men take advantage from it. Any slander is a weapon in a man's hands. You just do not understand it, Margo. And does it really matter what others think? If you really want Robert Hugo to stop looking at you as at an empty space, you have to warm his heart. Do not worry, I'll take care of the strategy. First, we need to update my wardrobe, - then she smiled. - Yeah, and also yours. Terrible dress".

Caroline pulled her cousin to the door, but Margo still hesitated. Frowning, she looked down on the folds of her mourning attire.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Are you kidding?" Caroline chuckled merrily. "It will not do. You should wear something more acceptable than this nightmare, in which you look like a foster child of the Ursulines' monastery. Come on."

Marguerite was so stunned by Caroline's last words, that she allowed, finally, lead her out of the office. They had six and a half hours before the scheduled time.

Caroline knew for sure, that during this time she could turn a pumpkin into a carriage and back. Well, in this case it was Marguerite.

 _'_ _You'll be a real princess, sister!_ _'_ Caroline thought, inspired by her idea.

.

At the dressmaker's Caroline was constantly humming a merry foreign song, the words of which Margo could not understand. Her cousin's voice was good, although she sang quietly to herself, and Marguerite did not dare to tell something definite about it. Moreover, the song sounded in the fifteenth time already, and it was starting to get annoying.

Marguerite turned and looked pleadingly at her cousin. But she did not even think to stop.

"Caroline, my dear," Margo spoke briskly. "Can you take a break for a moment and say, what do you think about the dress?"

"I cannot even call this disgrace a dress," Caroline shrugged. "Let me advise..."

Caroline became serious at once when she led Margo to the table and lifted a neatly folded dress. For a few moments Marguerite was silent, staring at the white muslin dress with yellow ribbons. Caroline said that she would look like an ancient goddess or a fairy, descended from the pages of a book of fairy tales, in this dress.

Marguerite hesitated; deep neckline, short sleeves and a belt, placed under the very chest, made her doubt. As for her, there were too many flounces on the lower skirt. But with all these disadvantages, the dress seemed really nice.

"Would not it be better," said Margo, "If someone like _you_ wore it?"

Caroline laughed. Her cousin's hesitation amused her, and if not manners, which stopped Mademoiselle de Blois, she would certainly reproach Marguerite for this barely audible babble and blush on the cheeks.

When Caroline did her best to buy Margo exactly this dress, Simon entered the store.

The last person Marguerite wanted to see while shopping was Monsieur Leroux. Just because there was nothing more pathetic in all Paris than that; or so she thought. For a long time it was not possible to persuade her buy even a pair of new gloves, because Mademoiselle constantly kept in mind the costs and counts.

When she realized that one single dress deprived her and her mother of the possibility to buy anything this month, cats scraped in her soul.

Caroline offered to write everything down on the expense of the sponsors of the Opera, since the reception was to be held there, but Margo banned this idea.

On the other hand, Marguerite liked the chosen dress and wanted it badly. But she couldn't buy it… And she repented.

This was when Simon suddenly intervened. With the most innocent expression on his face, he approached Marguerite and looked into her eyes.

"Wonderful dress," He looked at Caroline, addressing this compliment to her, then turned back to his cousin."Without any doubt, you should wear it tonight".

"Do you think so?" Margo hesitated. "But it is such a luxury".

"If your guests are impressed by your manners", Simon looked away, "So why not to be lost in contemplation even by your dress? You will look like a nymph in it".

"No way," Marguerite smiled, letting him know that his words cheered her up. But the money question remained open, and she still looked at the dress with doubts.

"As for the money", the young man said, "Let me make you a present. You and my dear sister," Simon earned Caroline's glare. "Both of you should become the queens of the reception".

Caroline was very pleased with such a scenario. Margo had to be persuaded once again, but in the end she obeyed the will of the family. The dress was too beautiful.

.

Somewhere deep beneath the Opera House, where even rats never lived; where the sound of the water dripping from stone arches did not stop, forcing to go crazy and think that this is the sound of a clock counting down your days on earth; where there was neither day nor night, but total darkness; where time seemed to have slowed down or stopped altogether, there was an underground lake.

At it had a guard, whom no one had bothered for many years. So many years... the water surface remained unshakable day after day.

Only occasionally beside the tunnel leading to the island in the middle of the lake - if a huge stone ledge above the water could be called an island - loudly, measured steps resounded.

And now a soft knock of the boots broke the silence.

A man completely wrapped in a black cloak headed to the house on the island. It was impossible to discern his face in the absolute darkness. He was not very tall and stooped a little.

He pressed a few levers, and the door opened in front of him easily, without a squeak.

He walked down the hall. Ahead, in the living room, a fireplace was burning - the only source of light throughout the house.

The man in black, after pausing for a moment, went there.

In front of the fireplace was a black high-backed chair. And it was impossible to see a person sitting there, if there really was anyone.

Looking directly at the chair, the man in black said:

"There are changes above".

Absolute silence was an answer to him, and only dry wood in the fire continued to crackle.

"They come to the surface," a black man continued, without waiting for an answer, as if it was common. "I do not like it".

Still, silence.

"I'm going there to control them".

A bony hand, similar to a hand of a skeleton, with yellow parchment skin showed from behind the chair. Or maybe the hand was the most common, and it was a mere illusion of fire and shadows...

A hand waved to a black man.

 _"Go"_ The Voice sounded in his head.


	5. Chapter 4

**And here's the Masquerade! Guess how many Phantoms attended this event :p Be prepared for the Red Death!**

 **And, of course, share your impression :)**

* * *

From the main lobby of the theater sounds of a fast waltz were heard, when Caroline and Marguerite came in. The luxuries spectacle before them literally took their breath away. Dozens of dancing pairs and figures in masks or without hem - all this was causing head spin.

"Get used to it, sister" Caroline said. "Now it's all ours".

"I don't belong here," Marguerite shook her head. "It's all alien to me. Do all these people have business in the theatrical sphere? Too many of them!"

"Honestly, it looks like you are from the provinces here, and not me," Caroline chuckled. "Here, take this".

She took two masks from the banquette standing next to them. One of them, white satin, she gave to Marguerite, and Caroline herself picked a red velvet one, decorated with stones and feathers, which suited her dress perfectly.

"Caroline, you look like a courtesan," Marguerite gasped.

"So what? It's a masquerade anyway. Also, I am not afraid of any rumors, unlike you".

Casting a reproachful look at her cousin, Marguerite put on her mask and proudly moved forward. At a time when no one could guess who she was, she felt much more confident.

Coming to the conclusion that an exhausting visit to the dressmaker was not in vain and gave some results, Caroline relaxed and was totally in the mood for fun.

Taking a walk around the room, she tried to find the acquaintances among the endless dance of high society couples, but pretty masks disturbed to do that. Caroline, as a rule, memorized people better by their voices.

A doorman in the uniform came to her and offered champagne. Giving him a polite smile, she took a crystal glass, the drink in which shone in the light, like gold, and thought that this was what she had always dreamed of.

She was bored in the company of Marseilles aristocracy! No, she would never come back. Her life was here, where she could shine among someone her own kind. And Marguerite was a fool, not appreciating it all!..

"How do you find the event?" she heard a pleasant voice with a soft British accent. "As far as I noticed, you do not dance, Mademoiselle de Blois".

Caroline frowned.

"How did you find me?"

"You observed the room with a look of a true hostess", William Fairfax shrugged. "In addition, you are a very bright and memorable figure. I would have recognized you even in armor. Doing the same when you are in such a provoking dress with a complete absence of sleeves is much easier".

When Marguerite made such a comment, it just made Caroline laugh. But now, when she heard a reproach from the restrained Englishman, she immediately felt discomfort and a desire to escape.

Suddenly a man in a suit of Count Dracula appeared near them as if out of nowhere. A black mask hid his face, huge white bloody fangs were seen from the mouth. Bowing to Caroline, he said in a low, drawling baritone:

"My Red Lady! Will you share this dance with me?"

"Red Lady is dancing only with me", Fairfax snapped coldly and reached Caroline.

She narrowed her eyes, turned away from him and faced the man in the mask:

"Your Excellency," She answered, "With great pleasure".

And a mysterious vampire spun her in a waltz. Caroline watched with delight as Fairfax stood without a move and stared at them.

"And how many of your unfortunate victims are here in this room?" Caroline asked. She was interested in this Count Dracula.

"Oh, I'm very fastidious", He told her. "You are my only prey today".

"Really?" Caroline laughed. "Do you want my blood to stain that brilliant parquet? What a lack of respect for the owners of the Opera!"

"Why do you suddenly decide that I'll certainly drink your blood?" He asked. "I only prefer scarlet on roses".

"So, you do not like my dress?"

"You misunderstood me, my Red Lady," The waltz ended, and now he elegantly bowed to her. "You are like a rose bud that is about to unfold".

Leaving Caroline perplexed and thinking about what these words meant, Count Dracula disappeared as suddenly as he came in sight.

.

The vampire in a cloak beat William just for a moment, and danced with the mistress of the Opera for about five minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to Fairfax.

His flattering opinion about Caroline was a bit spoiled by what had happened, but she still attracted him. He had always liked such women. Ambitious, a little calculating, but easy and pleasant to talk to.

His wife was the same. The ex-wife now.

As it turned out, the news of his divorce had spread throughout his Parisian circle of friends for just one day. When William met one of his French friends at the event, he expressed condolences to the Englishman.

It looked extremely nasty, but when the news came from London that his wife had ran off with some American, there was nothing else to be waited. Everyone knew that William was depressed.

All but Mademoiselle de Blois and Mademoiselle Firman. Maybe they just were not interested in some local gossip.

The scene with Count Dracula pricked Fairfax in the heart. The day before he loosed Effie, today it was the dance. These two scenes seemed so similar to the Englishman that he began to look for flaws in himself, and, being in a bad mood, of course, found them.

"You are a coward," He said to himself. "Criticized her dress, and she, of course, felt offended. Or maybe Mademoiselle really likes vampires. Terrible..."

At that moment a hand fell on William's shoulder, and he shuddered. Quickly he regained his excellent posture and turned around to catch a glimpse of Robert Gugot.

"How are you?" The man grinned, and his eyes flashed. "And why are you not wearing a mask?"

"Same question to you," Will shrugged his shoulders.

Robert closed his eyes, wincing, and waved his hand.

"I do not like masks. People hide their true feelings behind them," He chuckled. "They think they can behave as they want. Make mistakes, take risks, and no one will know about it".

William shrugged. Unfortunately, he was thinking about his personal problems more, and could not take part in the discussion of human nature.

But Gugot's temper deprived him of the opportunity to refuse, and he was forced to just listen, occasionally nodding, which wasn't enough for Robert.

Desperate to make the Englishman a good companion, Monsieur Gugot began to look around, and suddenly saw a figure in a pretty white dress. She was looking at him too, but somehow hesitantly, almost fearfully.

Saluting with his glass, Robert smiled.

"I think I've found a partner for the next dance," He mused. "And a very pretty one".

William turned his head and blinked, considering a fussy young woman in white.

"She is cute", Will finally said, "I think I'll drink more punch".

"But tell me, are you going to give Effie a divorce?"

"What?" William shivered. "Well, of course. There will be no problems with it".

Robert frowned and gave him his glass.

"Then relax," The Frenchman gave his advice. "And dance with someone. Take a look, our omnipresent Monsieur Leroux is sneaking to Snow White. I think I should interfere until I lost my dance partner".

A smile touched William's lips a little, but his thoughts were only darkened. To admire dance couples standing aside - especially in a brand new suit and gloves – that wasn't too comforting.

He sighed and shook his head. He should just accept it.

.

Marguerite saw Robert Gugot in the other end of the room. He was watching her for a long time, she knew that. The only question was how he recognized her in this luxurious dress and mask. She watched as he took a sip of champagne, not taking his eyes off her. This view burned her through and was... evaluating?

"Mademoiselle Marguerite?"

Startled, she turned to see Simon. He was very nice in his evening dress coat and a black bow tie. He didn't wear a mask. Neither did Robert, who continued to stare at her.

A thought flashed through her head. _'He_ _just guessed who I am_ _'_

"Do you care to dance?" Simon asked. His eyes shone with an insatiable desire to hear _"Yes",_ but the least thing Margo wanted now was dancing with anyone.

She shook her head and looked back on Robert Gugot, who was coming to them, constantly looking at her.

"In that case, I'll bring you some drink", Simon nodded.

 _'_ _No, do not go, do not leave me alone with him,_ _'_ Marguerite wanted to say, but knew it would be a silly thing to do. So she just thanked him with a soft smile.

She tried to concentrate at the dancing guests, at Caroline's red dress, which was seen on the other end of the hall, at a golden figure, which were a part of staircase' decoration, at the painted ceiling - at anything but Monsieur Gugot approaching her.

What would he say? Offend her again? Point on her superiority? Humiliate? She wanted to escape so much, but her feet seemed to have rooted to the floor.

When he approached her and bowed with a friendly smile, she realized that he still did not recognize her.

"May I have this dance, lovely mademoiselle?" He asked, and Marguerite could only surprise how gentle and likable may his voice be when its owner did not address the victim of dirty rumors.

Fearing to answer aloud to Rober, she just smiled at him and held out her hand, which he kissed fervently.

 _'_ _So this is it,_ _'_ Margo thought bitterly. _'_ _You must wear a mask to be interesting to him._ _'_

His hand fell to her waist, and they swirled in a waltz.

He stared straight into her eyes, trying to guess who was in front of him, but that Marguerite, who came to the ball, looked very different from the usual Marguerite.

Unable to stand it, he finally said:

"May I know your name, lovely angel?"

"I'm the one who you would never ever think to see here".

Avoiding a direct answer ignited his curiosity.

"Have we met before?" Robert asked quietly, because at that moment she was pressed close to him during the dance.

Goosebumps ran over her body when Margo felt his hot breath on her neck.

"Maybe yes, maybe not," She hurried to get free as soon as possible, as her head was starting to spin, and thoughts were floating somewhere far away.

In the next move Robert spun her toward him and stopped dancing. He devoured her with his eyes, wanting to know immediately who she was.

Marguerite suddenly wanted to be small and inconspicuous, to disappear from his sight, and never ever have to endure this gaze.

"Who are you?" He whispered.

She said nothing.

He grabbed the mask, Marguerite jerked, but did not succeed: the mask was left in Robert's hand.

Fear of humiliation overcame her, she wanted to escape, but could not move. Robert Gugot stunned for a few moments, looking at her, and then said:

"You?.."

Robert blinked in disbelief, his eyebrows went up almost immediately. His face was drawn into a mask of icy calm. His eyes narrowed slightly, and it was not a good sign.

Margo blushed. She seemed genuinely distressed that he saw her face. It was, of course, much more difficult for her than to him.

"Mademoiselle Firmin", Robert said quietly, frowning. "I hope – want to hope - that you can explain why you were so afraid to show me your face".

He said it so severely that Marguerite was completely confused. She was not ready to answer, and she had a few agonizing moments pondering how to sound convincing. At such moments, she needed the help of her cousin so badly…

"It is hard to explain", She whispered, pulling away. "Perhaps I just wondered what kind of person you can be when..."

"When..?" Robert replied sadly.

"When you are not ridden by prejudices," Margo breathed with a sudden resignation. "And I do not like to be questioned. Take my word, I really enjoyed dancing with you. But the thought that we totally concur outside the ball..."

"Sorry," He said in surprise, "If I somehow offended you. I would have never thought that our acquaintance can be characterized this way. Maybe..." Robert paused, then forced himself to add indifferently, "We just did not try to come together".

The first time during the conversation Marguerite found the strength to look at him. She always thought that of all her acquaintances Monsieur Gugot had the most beautiful eyes, and today they blazed for her not so coldly.

.

Standing a little distance away, Simon took a sip from his glass but almost did not feel the flavor of punch.

All his attention was captured by the couple of dancing young people, in which it was easy to recognize Monsieur Gugot and... Mademoiselle Firmin.

They looked remarkably well together. A tall handsome young man in a tail-coat and a fragile young woman in white dress. They were like a prince and a princess, two magnificent creations, which no other pair in this masquerade could outshine.

Simon thought with horror that he could not start a conversation with her so easily and elegantly during the dance. Not able to burn her with _such_ a look. Intimate and calling.

The thought that the sponsor allows himself such liberties with Marguerite - although Simon did not even hear what they were saying, he only guessed – made Monsieur Leroux's fists itchy.

But he was a man of a word, not an action. At least, not that rushing.

"How could you let her go with him?" The voice of conscience told him.

Simon sighed sadly, and only a moment later realized that the voice of conscience sounded not in his head.

The young man flinched and turned to face a terrible skull.

"Oh, my God," Simon gasped, shaking his head. "What a stunning mask. You scared me".

The stranger chuckled merrily and humorously bowed. He was wearing a long red gown. Sanguineous. And his costume was also red, as well as gloves, and boots, and a hat.

"So why do not you try to win her?" An eccentric stranger repeated his question.

Simon shrugged.

"But she is not mine," He said hesitantly. "Mademoiselle Firmin refused to give me a dance, and it is not for me to decide..."

"Fool" The figure in red snorted, and Simon could have sworn that he saw dark luster in the empty eye holes. "She's using you".

Monsieur Red Death threw back his head and laughed. Simon Leroux had never heard such a sinister, but at the same time amazingly beautiful laughter.

He froze, listening, and then caught himself thinking that he would like to laugh that way as well.

"One enemy more, one enemy less," Red Death deliberately drawled. "It's irrelevant. You bought the girl this dress in which she looks like the queen of the ball. You help her find out who is the target of suspicious notes... And that how she pays you for your help. There is much to think about, isn't it?"

Simon winced. He did not like these words. Firstly, Red Death was clearly taunting on Simon's wish to make something good for the lady, and secondly, he did something with Simon's thoughts. He changed them, rebuilt like an architect.

One just casually thrown phrase made Simon feel hatred to himself and Mademoiselle Firmin.

"How do you know all this?" The young man asked quietly, looking away. "Do not mess with me".

"Messing with you makes no good", The stranger chuckled again. "You are looking for a fight. Or no, wait, you cannot hurt even a fly. It turns out I'm really mocking you, and in the most dishonorable way".

Simon realized that this was not the light-hearted conversation. Wincing, he quietly asked the gentleman to leave him alone, put the glass back on the table and disappeared.

He saw no reason to stay at the event where everything began to merge into one solid-colored stain, and where the hum of voices, like a swarm of bees, sounded louder and louder.

The Masque of the Red Death only grinned in response.

.

There, far below, in the Golden Hall, flashed colored spots. There were many of them, all different; they moved faster, then slower, obeying the rhythm of music.

He did not know they all were people. He was sure that these were notes, descended from scribbled scores, circled in a bright dance. Yes! He just knew it.

He did not like the music. He knew he could make notes dance more beautifully. He did it thousands of times!

At least, he thought so.

The fingers on his right hand moved as usual, living their own live.

He tried to make the music change with the power of thought, but it did not obey to him.

So it was not a true music. True music had always obeyed him.

"My brother, let's go back. You feel unwell".

He heard a voice, and felt a hand touch his shoulder, but he did not see that person. Sometimes, brother appeared before his eyes, but he did not like it. Brother showed him direction, like the arrow of the compass. But it was an unusual arrow: one end pointed to the north, and the other - to the east.

"Brother, you have not answered me again. I beg you, talk to me. I have asked you so many times".

The answer was not necessary. He did not like the sounds of someone's speech. Only true music mattered.

It was hiding somewhere deep, but it was not important to him. He had to correct the false sounds of the golden music box.

"He do not you answer you again?"

He did not like this voice. This voice was often arguing with his brother and tried to prove that he was wrong. The master of the voice was always visible, it was a man in a black cloak and a fedora, without a face.

"It's none of your business," Brother replied. "Why do you even go to the world above? Should not you be with _him_?"

" _He_ sent me, so I followed the two madmen," The dark figure said.

"Well, _go_ there," The man pointed to the round window, through which the ball could be seen. "Go and do not bother my brother".

"He's not your brother, Magician," The dark man shook his head. "And you must understand that he, and those downstairs, must be destroyed".

"It is inhumane" Magician replied sharply.

"And are we human? When _he_ chose them, he had no idea how dangerous they would be".

"My brother is not dangerous", Magician said through clenched teeth.

"But he is not normal, and you know it".

Magician did not respond, and the black man walked away, waving his cloak.

But young man was still looking at the colored spots, and suddenly something interested him: one of the figures, snow-white, broke away from the crowd and stopped.

And he realized that this note was the true one.

"Angel!" He exclaimed. "The Angel of Music!"


	6. Chapter 5

**And here, finally, girls enter the Phantom's lair! Enjoy and review!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER V**

 _To Mademoiselle Caroline de Blois, the mistress of the Opera_

 _I hasten to congratulate you and your sister with such a great Masquerade, mademoiselle. Such events always reinforce the influence of the managers, and you, as I see, are aware of it._

 _I do not know what has struck me the most: the scope of the festival or_ _the sight of_ _your dress. The latter, incidentally, had the effect not only on me, but on many_ _guests. You are being fresh with fashion and remaining the Red Queen of the ball at the same time. You were a great hostess of the ball, mademoiselle._

 _But still you are far from becoming a true manager of the Grand Opera. And if you want this "far" not to become "infinite", remember the note from the Phantom of the Opera, and try to behave according to the regulations._

 _He is very angry when his requests are not taken seriously or even thrown out of the head like a bad joke. I'm not trying to scare or confuse you, but without this agreement your managing of the Opera will not be possible, and I am sure you'd really like to reserve that right._

 _Please, discuss the detail with your dear cousin and tell her that she has also been very sweet in that white dress - almost like a nymph - but her character lacks firmness._

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _Friendly anonymous_

"Sweet?" Margo exclaimed, raising her eyes on Caroline. "You are heaped praises upon and I have been just sweet in that white dress?"

Caroline snorted.

"But it is said: as a nymph."

"I have already heard it," the cousin replied offended. "And again this horrible letter. What does a mysterious anonymous want from us? We will not sacrifice the Box Five in favor of some unlikely Phantom. In the end, this is one of the best boxes, from there Louis-Philippe watched _Le Roi de Lahore_. And what if we are asked why the Box Five is always empty? We can't say that it is rented by the Phantom of the Opera."

Margo flung up her hands. She was worried and even blushed. Mademoiselle Firmin had enough rumors about her own personality, so the talks about the Phantom of the Opera were unnecessary. And although everyone in the theater had become accustomed to the antics of the Phantom, she did not intend to tolerate them.

"Maybe we should hire the police?" Caroline asked sourly. "Then all this will at least drive from the dead-lock."

"The police have enough real criminals," Margo answered sharply. "They will refuse to help us."

"Too bad."

"But we cannot just leave it this way."

"So, the police," Caroline said quietly to herself, sticking a flower to her new hat and enjoying the result. She felt the most important woman of fashion in Paris.

Margo sighed and ran a hand over her eyes.

"No," She said. "I was thinking to stay in the Opera for a night and see what our Phantom really is. I know," She added quickly, having caught Caroline's eloquent glance, "That sounds silly, but we have no other choice. And this may explain something, don't you think?"

"I do not know," Caroline winced. "But there is nowhere to sleep, Margo. Stuffy dressing rooms do not count, of course. And what if we are attacked by the Phantom?" She gasped and dropped the hat. "After all, he really can. Remember what Joseph Buquet told about him."

Marguerite shook her head.

"Joseph Buquet scares the dancers."

"He has rich imagination," Caroline chuckled. "No, it is too dangerous to stay in the Opera at night."

.

Mornings in the trendy area of Paris began differently than in its poorer neighborhoods.

Firstly, because there it started much later.

The weakening autumn sun reached the wide windows, sheltered by expensive tulle, almost at noon.

When happy and wealthy tenants of these luxury houses opened their eyes in beds with gilded columns and velvet canopies, their servants had had time to do all that was required for a successful start of the day of their masters. After a hearty breakfast and extended morning toilet they went for a walk or spent their time in any other pleasant way.

But this morning Rober Gugot, waking up in his mansion on the Champs-Elysees, did not feel his usual tranquility. He was in a bad mood, and the culprit was the last damn Masquerade at the Opera.

There he was literally bewitched by this she devil, the little witch, Marguerite Firmin. He had lost his temper, fascinated by the charming stranger, but she suddenly appeared to be the one whom he least expected to find there.

But, nevertheless, he remembered the slightest detail of their dance. Every movement of her fragile, tiny body… hell, this girl knew how to dance, and, moreover, she did it great! He still seemed to feel the touch of his fingers on her waist, so thin that he could easily embrace the two Marguerites with his one hand.

He knew Carne, who was an unremarkable young man, a very ordinary son of wealthy parents. He did not have any character, he was not handsome. Why on earth he was going to be her husband? She was too good for him. If she married Carne, Robert without any preamble would have charmed and seduced her.

The last thought made him smile and relaxed lean back against the pillows.

This impregnable arrogant woman should be in this very bed. If the rumors about her are truth, it would be easy to... hell, yes, he would even bet on it!

These gossip and scandal, unfolded around the canceled engagement, convinced Robert that Marguerite was vicious and cunning. When he met her in person, he did not even try to change his established opinions about her.

Simon Leroux's adoration and Caroline de Blois's protection made the image of Marguerite a caricature, and Carne's complaints about his thankless bride did the trick. Robert barely knew the sound of her voice, the look in her eyes - she never dared to speak loudly and raise her head.

He never found her beautiful just because he did not even try.

The day before, however, he had that opportunity, and then he knew that she had a pretty face, big, deep brown eyes, where he could see the fear... And he would like to see the adoration!

With great difficulty, Robert forced himself to escape from the sweet fantasies. Why think about it, when you can make it happen? Even if Leroux first saw her, he could not give her the passion that Robert could.

From his young age, he had convinced himself that love was not for him. Many women had fallen victims to his charm, fell in love with him and gave a whole, but he felt nothing but a fleeting attraction to them. He greedily drank it the last drop all the pleasure, given by love.

And then that girl appeared in his life. Audacity mixed together with insecurity - that's what it was, that was why she made Robert want her so much.

It all had happened so quickly! Even the day before, he had felt nothing but contempt for her, and then the thought of it raised a storm of uncontrollable emotions in him.

His servants, realizing that their master was not in his best mood, fulfilled his every spoken and unspoken whim. However, neither the delicious breakfast, nor the fresh morning papers could not entertain him.

"I'm going to the Opera," he called his valet, who also performed the role of his secretary.

"But today no meeting with sponsors is scheduled, monsieur," the valet reminded gently and, seeing Robert's withering look, instantly regretted it.

"I do not care," Gugot snarled, tying his tie. It struggled and resisted, making Robert even more irritated. "Command to lodge the carriage."

The valet nodded and disappeared from his sight.

Approaching the Opera, Robert lost the last remnants of tranquility. It infuriated him, because he was used to knowing in advance what to do in the next few minutes, and at that moment laid in front of him. Would he make her fall a victim of his charm immediately or elect a more secure, though a long path? He would like to know for sure.

A well-trained doormen at the glass doors of the theater routinely bowed down to him, but he did not even notice. And he did not notice the golden hall, through which he passed, loudly banging his heels of the shiny black shoes. He saw only a staircase leading upstairs to the director's office. And he had already reached the heavy oak doors and opened them with one jerk.

Marguerite was sitting at her desk, too big, too massive for her, in her ordinary dark, high-necked dress. She was looking through some letters. Her blond hair was pulled into a strict knot, but there was one stray lock against her ear, and Marguerite readjusted it from time to time.

Because of the intense concentration on the letter, a thin fold formed between her eyebrows. She looked tired, despite the fact that the day only began. In the office she was alone, both her cousins were not seen around.

She slowly raised her head and looked at him. Frowning more and returning to the study of the letter, she said:

"Good morning, sir. The next meeting with the sponsors is scheduled for Wednesday. You mistook the time."

"What if I did not come because of this stupid meeting?" Gugot replied, stepping closer.

"In this case, you call me off from my work." Marguerite shrugged, got up from her seat and went to the bookshelf.

"Where's your cousin?" Robert asked.

Marguerite turned to him, and her eyebrows expressed extreme surprise, as if asking: "Are you still here?"

"If you are looking for Caroline, she is studying the premises."

 _'I'm definitely lucky'_ Robert thought and came closer to her. He noticed the tremble of her hands when she felt his hot breath very close.

"And is her brother with her?"

"Yes, he is." Her voice was very quiet, her head down as usual, shoulders slumped - she became the Marguerite, which Robert was used to see, a gray mouse, which had become a victim to the opinions of the world.

He almost held her to the bookcase, cutting off all possible escape routes. And when she turned to him, she took her own final freedom - his lips were almost touching her hair.

"That's great, because I have come to you," he said, barely able to contain himself.

"To me?" She asked.

"To you, Marguerite," he repeated patiently, looking into her eyes. He saw her lips so close, affordable, trembling in front of him from the fear of the unknown, not from the fear of humiliation. "I wanted to tell you I was sorry about everything that happened between us ... everything except the night before. And I have come to ask you to give me a chance to start all over again."

He felt a shiver ran through her at his words and her lips trembled even more, unsuccessfully trying to say something. That excitement, that shiver carried over to him, and he closed his eyes and leaned toward her, gently touching her chin with his fingertips, bringing her lips to his.

"Oh, Marguerite..."

Suddenly the office door noisily opened, and Caroline and Simon entered.

"Margo, dear, we've found a suitable dressing room, and you..."Seeing how quickly Gugot recoiled from Marguerite, Caroline broke off and squinted. "Monsieur Gugot? May I help you?"

"We were discussing the conditions of sponsorship investments," he said with a radiant smile. "But we have agreed on everything, and I'd rather leave you."

The last thing he saw leaving the office was Simon's gaze, full of fierce hatred.

.

"And what else can you tell us, Gary?" a man, whose face was hidden and only meager outlines of the body and the hair were seen, asked lazily. As if doing a favor.

The speaker had an incredibly beautiful tenor, enveloping and caressing, but with some frightening hint of ice.

The Black man, standing next to the fireplace warming his hands, savagely pounded his fist on the mantel, on which an old box was. The two strange figures in it, a scorpion and a grasshopper, jumped on the spot.

"Be careful," the tenor hissed. "They are still active."

"I always knew you spit on all the safety rules established by us. But I did not expect this folly from you! You started acting like Destler, Hugo!"

"Be careful with your statements!" A voice from a nearby chair sounded. "Unlike you, Black, I take at least some measures, write anonymous letters to these two beauties..."

"Thank you for not sending roses!" the Black man quipped.

"This is for the chorus girls," Destler waved his hand.

"You are not worthy to wear... the sign," the Black was almost furious. "What is your music like? The croaking of the frogs!"

"Chill out, Gary," The calm voice came from across. "Destler was chosen by _him_. And _he_ never makes mistakes."

" _He_ has already made at least three," the Black furtively looked around, lowered his voice and whispered. "I told you about it, Magician! And there is no use in taking care of your precious brother. The dungeon is not for him."

"What do you know about my brother?" The Magician shrugged. Tension was growing in his voice. "He came here before you, and that is he whom I will give all my works."

"So, no family feelings," the Black tried to catch him. "Just a sort of... an replacement?"

" _Enough_ ," A high voice with no expression and intonation came from the box on the mantelpiece. " _I'm tired of you. Get out. You have a lot to do_."

.

"We are waited in the big audience. The technical run of the second act, as I understand," Caroline said, whipping her hair in front of the mirror. "The sponsors will come too. I hope this time it will be more successful..."

"Awful," Margo admitted. "I do not understand how Uncle had a knack for all this farce."

Caroline said nothing, but her face broke into a knowing smile.

Marguerite sighed, remembering that there was another rehearsal of _Hannibal_. It must be said that for a few weeks at the Opera as its manager, she accustomed a little to the actors, stage workers and, particularly, to Madame Giry, who had a habit of standing behind the managers, and occasionally saying something in a quiet but insinuating voice.

Caroline shrugged, pulled a little box from the drawer and said with evident pleasure:

"Personally, I do not want to become deaf because of Carlotta's singing. So yesterday I bought earplugs," Caroline showed the earplugs. "Here is a couple for you."

"How amazing," Margo surprised genuinely, "That you finally took care of something really important."

"I'm not _that_ vain."

"Yes, I know, I know," Marguerite took Caroline's hand and led her cousin out of the room, wondering aloud about how long the rehearsal would take. "If only we don't have to sit more than three hours in the stuffy room..."

The girls came to the hall a quarter of an hour before the appointed time. This time they sat on one of the back rows, in order to be able to fully appreciate the setting. In addition, from these places the girls couldn't see the round, flushed with exertion face of Carlotta. It was another important plus.

"Coffee?" Madame Giry asked, leaning over to the managers with her most friendly expression. At least, so Marguerite thought. Caroline was still assured that Madame Giry didn't even know such a word as "friendly."

"We will wait for the sponsors," Margo explained with a smile. "And drink morning coffee together."

Madame Giry nodded and stood up. Caroline shivered and hurried to whisper to her cousin, how terrible this woman was.

"Does not se have another dress" Caroline looked suspicious. Her eyes narrowed, and there was disapproval in her look. "Less mourning. It is as if she has visited a funeral."

Marguerite sighed.

"Honey, not everyone is interested in all the fashion trends as you are. And please," She gave her cousin a warning look, "Do not talk about black. If you remember, I have worn it for quite a long time."

Caroline did not answer. She looked at the main door, and soon Margo understood why her companion fell silent so suddenly. In the doorway there stood Simon and William Fairfax; Madame Giry was talking to them about something, probably thanking them for their visit. Marguerite looked at Caroline excitedly. Robert was not among them.

"Monsieur Gugot is sloppy in his visits," Caroline said caustically. "His behavior, however, starts to annoy me."

"What do you mean?" Marguerite asked, pretending to be carefully studying her fingernails.

"Those _sponsor's investments_ that you were talking about on Monday," Caroline recalled. "What did he mean? And what were you, by the way, doing, when I came in with Simon?"

"Oh, forget it," Marguerite muttered, not looking at her cousin.

William Fairfax approached the girls in the company of Simon. Caroline immediately started a polite conversation with him, and Marguerite smiled sweetly to Simon. But he did not respond to her smile, only nodded slightly and sat down behind her. He changed greatly after that situation on Monday, and Marguerite could not understand why.

"I heard that you and your cousin stayed a night at the Opera the other day," Fairfax said to Caroline.

"Yes, hoping to catch a local ghost," she replied.

"So?"

"In addition to the terrible pain in the bones in the morning… nothing," Caroline said, reproachfully looking at Marguerite, whom this crazy idea belonged. "The Phantom of the Opera is rather lazy."

"Maybe he is just waiting," Fairfax suggested.

"Maybe. However, I think none of us would give up a coffee." Caroline beckoned Madame Giry.

She came up with two young chorus girls - a cute blonde and a brown-haired one, whose thoughts clearly hovered somewhere in the clouds.

"Mademoiselle Firmin, Mademoiselle de Blois, let me introduce to you my daughter, Meg Giry," The girl bowed, "And Christine Rossini. Mademoiselle Rossini is very promising, she has a lovely voice."

"If she could sing better than Carlotta," Caroline said dreamily.

"Yeah, dream on," Marguerite replied. It was obvious that she wasn't in good mood.

"In any case, bring a cup of black coffee for me, tea with milk for Mr Fairfax, and one for Marguerite without milk, and a cup of tea with no sugar for Simon." Caroline ignored the painful nudge in the ribs from Marguerite, hinting: _Behave yourself._

Drinks were brought, the unfortunate rehearsal began. In general, the managers' day in the Opera was formed in the same way as always.

.

Slaves on the scene carefully repeated the dance moves, driven by the whip clicks of the dancer who played the slaver. Marguerite was embarrassed by his bare torso relief, which was emphasized by the light. She had never before seen men stripped to the waist, and then tried not to look at him, so that her cheeks would not blush.

Trying to escape, she studied the giant chandelier hovering above the hall, and looked back at the aisles, occupied by the workers, arguing, if the light had been exposed correctly. Suddenly, the black figure in the doorway leading into the lobby captured the attention.

Marguerite vowed that she saw a mask facing directly at her before the person was out of sight. Her heart skipped a beat.

Using the fact that Caroline was distracted by either to rehearse of "Hannibal", or William Fairfax, and did not look at her, Marguerite carefully held between the rows of velvet seats and quietly slipped out of the hall. Here and there she met the workers of the theater, they greeted her and watched for a long time after her.

At the far end wing, in a residential area of the theater, it was very quiet, and every step of Marguerite echoed in the corridor. The sound made her feel uncomfortable, but she was not going to let fear seize her.

She pulled all the door-handles in a row, but only one door, the last one, was unlocked. With a deep breath she pushed the door.

The best description of the interior was "poor." The room was small, with two beds, as if taken from the cell of a monastery. Above one of these beds in the alcove, Marguerite saw the portrait of a man surrounded by almost burnt candles.

Coming closer, she saw the signature almost unreadable because either the time, or because it was often touched. The first name could not be seen, but the last name "Rossini" was still readable. Obviously, it was the father of one of the chorus girls, who the managers were presented to by Madame Giry and who lived in this room.

Marguerite was about to leave the room without finding anything interesting and related to the theatrical rumors, when she noticed a subtle movement ... in the mirror?

In a quick turn she briefly locked eyes with a man, who reflected in the mirror, but who was not in the room. He was broad-shouldered, dressed in black, bare-headed, holding a red rose in his hands. But the most surprising thing, that frozen by fear Marguerite noticed, was a white mask covering almost the entire right side of his face.

That man was a ghostly vision, a mystical illusion, which hid in the darkness a moment later.

Marguerite closed her eyes, shook her head and opened her eyes again.

 _'I have hallucinations,'_ She thought. _'In the room there was no man in a mask and with a rose, so it could not be in a mirror.'_

Nevertheless, she went to the mirror and stared at it again. But she only saw her terrified face. Then she pushed the mirror, not knowing what to hope for.

And suddenly the mirror moved, opened, showing a corridor lit by rare torches and leading to the darkness.

Marguerite was on the verge separating two different worlds. On the one side was the earthly world, a world of sunshine, peace, which began with the two chorus girls room; on the other – an unknown, frightening world of the dungeons of the Opera.

She hesitated awhile. Though her heart trembled at the sight of the corridor, leading to nowhere, but she still knew she had to put an end to the Phantom uncertainties prevailed in the theater. In her theater. Caroline didn't seem she was going to decide anything on her own.

Therefore, choosing her dress, Marguerite stepped into the darkness.

.

"It's all very interesting," Caroline nodded to each of the sponsors. "But my cousin is gone, and I should look for her. A bad hostess I am, but it can't be helped..."

She smiled softly and stood up from her chair, rustling the skirts. At this very moment, the musicians in the orchestra began to play. Drums rumbled, pipes sounded and Carlotta appeared on the stage, in the same exotic dress. Variegated like a peacock. Workers were trying hard to roll out on the stage a Cyclopean elephant, but so far unsuccessfully.

 _'I've seen it all,'_ Caroline thought with a lazy smile. She did not want to re-evaluate the results of numerous rehearsals.

From the corner of her eye she saw as Carlotta coyly talked to a detached head, affectedly bulging red lips and taking her eyebrows in a frown. Unbearable.

She slipped into the corridor, carefully shut the door behind her, and was left alone. She could not think of any place where Marguerite had gone so long, but hoped that she would find her before the first act finished.

Several ballet dancers ran past Caroline, late for the rehearsal. The manager stopped them, gently touching their shoulders.

"Have you seen Mademoiselle Firmin?"

"Oh!" One of the ballet dancers blushed as if she was asked about something criminal. "There was a quarrel between her and Mr. Sponsor, wasn't there? And today he has not even show up. She had a very sad face when walking here..."

"And this is none of your business," Caroline frowned. "Run to the rehearsal. Tell madame Giry that it was me who latened you. Quickly."

The dancer nodded, and picked up her pace. The chains on her green and red skirt of a "slave" rattled, hitting the floor.

"There was a quarrel between her and Mr. Sponsor, ha-ha! What care about the reputation of the manager of the Opera ..." Caroline marveled, going upstairs. She hoped to catch her cousin in the office or in any of the dressing rooms and was very happy, that one of the doors was wide open, assuming that the search was completed.

But there was no time for joy - the room was dark, but did not even get used to that impending darkness, Caroline could say with confidence that the room was empty. Shoes lay on the floor, on the left there was a bed, and on the dressing table there were paints and brushes for applying makeup - the main instruments of any artist.

Marguerite was not in the room, and Caroline was about to go back into the corridor when her eyes suddenly came across the mirror. Perhaps she wanted to look at her reflection once again and sigh of her blossoming beauty, but instead her gaze was attracted by quite a wide black slit.

The mirror was pushed back, and it was clearly a pass.

Caroline blinked, the misunderstanding in her eyes was replaced by fear, and then a guess.

"That's what the vaunted Phantom really is," She cried aloud. "I told her it was one of the workers! Secret passages! How clever. Silly Margo, of course, is down there. What a fool... Couldn't she wait for the meeting to finish?"

Caroline pressed her hands on the mirror, and it slid aside, freeing the black passage. She poured the smell of damp.

Trampled on the ground, Caroline picked up her skirts and stepped forward into the jaws of a blind tunnel. Her feet clattered on the stone steps, soon replaced by a leaving down road. She walked gingerly touching the wall with her fingers, not even trying to squint in the inky darkness.

She tried at that moment not to think about the mysterious Phantom, who, according to the legend, dwelled somewhere under the Opera House, but goose still ran on back. A secret passage leading to strange tunnels. A very suitable place for the Phantom, isn't it?..

After a few steps, Caroline gasped loudly and listened. Even her breath echoed through the narrow walls. Suddenly she stopped. Was it good acting as recklessly as Marguerite? She always laughed at horrors and Gothic books written to turn the blood of young girls in the ice.

But now they didn't seem to her so comical. Moreover, the immobility reigning in the tunnel made her very, very frightened. As if something drowsed in these walls, only pretending to be asleep. Even with all her inartificial character, Marguerite could not help feeling death...

"How has she come down here?" Caroline thought, peering around the corner.

At the end of her long journey, she saw the light, and soon realized that there were torches on the walls.

For a few moments Caroline stared in the dancing, sparkling scarlet flames, and then pulled the torch. The flame snorted offended and danced even more. The flame warmed Caroline's palms, but she was afraid to get burned. And yet, she calmly reasoned that darkness scared her more.

.

Marguerite still walked down the tunnel. She passed several forks on the road, the corridor narrowed, then widened, sometimes it seemed familiar, sometimes unfamiliar. Margo tried not to think about that she was lost hundred years ago for sure.

She went further down and the walls became rawer, and the air - colder. Even in her tightly buttoned tweed dress she shiver and sighed remembering the drab wraps, remaining in the director's office.

It was quiet, she could not find the man, whom she saw in the mirror, but no doubt that he existed. She walked and walked, it seemed, without a goal, actually - trying to find anything.

And suddenly near the far torch on the next fork, she saw a familiar dark figure.

The man did not see her, he stood with his back to her. Leaning against the wall, Marguerite began to approach him carefully. When she came so close that she could see in great detail every fold of his cloak, her dress rustled.

The man in black turned around, and Marguerite saw a sparkle of his eyes under the mask. She stumbled, fell and lost consciousness.

.

Time passed and the tunnels never ended. In torchers' light Caroline saw everything and could say exactly that they were all incredibly alike.

"Whoever built them, he was blind for sure!"

Bouncing from every rustle wasn't a grown-up's behavior. Caroline passed a few more turns, but nothing changed. She seemed to hit the endless maze.

It looked like she was lost.

.

Marguerite woke up in a room without windows, lighted by dozens of candles which stood in all the corners. She was lying on a couch in the middle of the room. Sitting up on her elbows, she could see a huge pipe organ, on which piles of scribbled music paper lay.

It seemed that she was there all alone, and the room was quiet, except for her breath disturbed the silence of a strange room.

Where was she? Was she kidnapped? Those questions haunted her. And it seemed to her that she could answer them. She was in the den of the man in the mask.

 _'What did he do to me?'_ A disturbing thought flashed in Marguerite's head. _'Or... has already done… '_

She could not know for how long had she already been in the room. The stranger was not around, and Marguerite decided to try to leave until he returned. Next to the organ there was a door, barely visible in the dim light of candles.

But at the moment when she sat on the couch, the door opened and the man in the mask walked in.

Jasper's eyes, deep and sad, stared at the girl. Marguerite seldom saw foreigners, but definitely could tell that in the features of her kidnapper there was something Eastern.

The white mask, covering half of his face, clearly stood out on his bronze skin. The man did not seem dangerous, at least at first sight. His eyes shone with some inner soft light reflecting... helplessness?

"Who are you?" Marguerite asked without a preamble. "What do you want from me?"

The man did not answer, and did not seem to hear her. He waved his left hand and released it from the folds of his cloak, he held his hand out to Marguerite, moved to the couch.

"Do not come closer!" Marguerite cried. Again he did not answer her. Frozen with fear, she watched as he came closer and closer... And suddenly dropped to his knees, bowed his head.

"What do you want from me?" Marguerite repeated almost in a whisper.

"You are an Angel," The man said at last. Something a little scary was in his voice, in his beautiful baritone. "You're an Angel. I need an Angel."

Marguerite was taken aback.

"I am not an Angel!"

The masked man vaguely shook his head and turned away from her. He walked over to the organ and began to collect scattered musical sheets. It took him a few minutes, during which the absolute silence was broken only by the rustle of paper.

Marguerite began to feel that her strange jailer completely forgot about her presence. She stood up and approached him. Convinced that he still did not see her, she touched his arm.

The masked man either cried, or yelled quietly and jumped back from Marguerite. She looked into his eyes - they became quite wild.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to scare you," She said, realizing how ridiculous was to hear these words from the mouth of a prisoner.

The man in the mask moved back to the wall, looking straight at her. Quite unable to understand anything, Marguerite tried to approach him again.

"Please, tell me what's going on," She was trying to keep a calm tone, but her voice was still trembling with fear. "Please. Why have you kidnaped me? Why have you brought me here?"

When she came up to him at arm's length, he cried.

Marguerite had never heard such a terrifying, inhuman scream in her life. The sound resonated in the organ pipes, making the walls shake.

Horrified Marguerite ran away, trying to open the door through which he had entered here. But it wasn't any success. The cry did not stop, and she threw herself on the same couch on which she had woken up and tried to close her eyes and cover her ears.

Suddenly the cry stopped. Carefully, anxiously raising her head, Marguerite saw a third person in the room. He was a bit taller than the reaver, but he was dressed in the same black cape and wore the same mask. _Are there two of them?_

"Calm down, Ram," the man said. He had a nice, soft, even gentle voice, trembling beautifully on high notes and very quiet on low ones.

The one whose name was Ram, immediately obeyed. He listened to that man. Bowing his head, he left the room. Then the other man, a new one, the second one - Marguerite did not know how to call him, - turned to her and held his hand to her.

"Calm down, mademoiselle," He said. "If you behave sensibly, I mean you no harm."

.

Caroline's leg slipped.

The blood rushed to her head, and she gasped with fear - a sudden, sharp, hot wave spreading through her body.

Caroline grabbed the wall and miraculously did not fall, but the darkness swallowed her torch. The darkness overshadowed everything, bound her vision. She took a deep breath, coping with a crazy heartbeat. She hadn't been so scared for quite a time!

But there was a different feeling. Something ran past her legs. Something furry and squeaking. Caroline screamed loudly. Shrill, high scream hit the blank walls and rang in the dark.

"No! No! No!" Caroline whimpered, clinging to the wall. "This is not happening to me! Anyone else but..."

Ah, that Marguerite! She went downstairs ... She did not think that Caroline would play a "detective" and search for her in that disgusting dungeon. She was already fed up with musty smell and webs hanging from the ceiling. Caroline would not be surprised to find among the long corridors a pile of human bones. Moreover, they would fit the situation perfectly.

"Mademoiselle de Blois," suddenly a human voice was heard.

Caroline gasped. Her legs buckled. She knelt on the icy floor and began to cry. Something began to speak to her! A disembodied spirit for sure!

"Oh yeah, it's the ghost of the same hapless adventurer like me or Marguerite. Maybe, he wandered here for a week, until death overtook him. A terrible, unjust death without food and water, among rats and spiders ..." Caroline shook her head from side to side, knowing that the ghost could be here with only one purpose – to invite her in another world.

"Will you calm down already?" The ghost asked in a calm, but slightly wounded voice. "Stay where you are. Nothing will happen to you. I will leave a torch for you."

Caroline looked up.

"Who are you?" She said defiantly. "I thought you were a ghost..."

There was no answer.

"Are you a ghost?"

There was a quiet rustling sound and a sound like the rattle of stones. Then everything was quiet.

"He is not here!" Caroline realized, jumping to her feet. "He scared me and disappeared! And where is my promised..."

On the wall to her left a fire broke out.

"…torch," the girl muttered, looking ahead suspiciously.

Caroline quickly lit the wall with the torch, but did not even notice a gap. No trace of the presence of a stranger. What if she dreamed it? Auditory hallucinations?

.

 _He_ carefully closed the damper of an acoustic tube.

Marguerite watched him closely while he was talking to her cousin, more and more firmly establishing the thought that he was not dangerous. Despite the fact that her mind realized how silly it was, but there was a feeling that she could trust him. His calm voice was, perhaps, cheating on her, but it deceived masterfully.

Her companion turned to her.

"Come, Mademoiselle. Your cousin is waiting for you."

"But I hoped..."

"No."

She crossed her arms and stared at him with determination in the most cold-blooded look.

He sighed.

"It is better for you, if you do not know anything. As soon as I bring you up to the surface, you have to forget me, and everything that you have seen in the dungeons."

"But medicine has not yet invented the drugs that cause selective amnesia, so, I will remember," Marguerite said. "And as far as I remember, I will send people here to find out what's going on here."

"I know who you are. You can be a thousand times the mistress of the Opera, but you should not be interested in what is under it."

"Who are you? Why are there two of you? Is this man, from whom you took me, crazy?" Her voice became harder.

She again was very, very scary. Apparently, this fear forced the masked man to take pity on her.

"Are you... The Phantom of the Opera?" She added quietly.

"People on the surface call me that way, so it's true. I have been living in these caves for more than a decade, but I'm not the Phantom of the Opera, about who terrible legends are told. Mysterious, elusive and cruel, keeping at bay the entire theater - yes, he really existed. But he was a man. A real human of flesh and blood. And he felt that he was getting older. Then he found a replacement ..."

Interrupting his narrative, as if lost in thought and lost in himself, he ran his hand along the stone wall, and then put his ear towards it, as if listening to something.

"The man who kidnapped you ... Please, forgive him."

"Is he mad?"

"My brother is not mad," without losing the peace, he said.

"Your... who?" Marguerite was taken aback.

"A person who you were with, Ram, is just very sick. I take care of him. And you really have to forgive him. He saw you at the ball when you were in white, and - I do not know why – thought that you were the Angel of Music. He is obsessed by this image. I cannot do anything. I'm just watching you to save. Just as I take care of him."

He paused again, but as soon as Margo took a deep breath to say something, he spoke again:

"It's time for you to go. If you walk a dozen steps from here forward, you'll stumble on the door that takes you to a corridor where your restless cousin is waiting for you. She is a very foolish person, by the way..."

Nodding, Marguerite moved forward, but suddenly stopped.

"What is your name?"

"Earl," he said. "But most people call me the Magician."


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER VI**

(11 years ago)

 _Leave at Scribe Street, near the lattice at the Opera House_

 _Erik,_

 _My days come to the end. I feel the life force is leaving me rapidly, and by the time you receive this letter I will be dead._

 _You may ask why you need to know that. You were my only friend, even though our relationship could hardly be called friendship. That is why I appeal to you with a request, which can be entrusted only to a friend._

 _It is not so easy, but I hope for your mercy._

 _After me my son, the only reminder of my beloved wife, will be left alone._ _He is nineteen years old, but I cannot leave him_ _like this._

 _My wife's brother had suffered an unknown but frightening disease, some strange mental illness that no doctor could identify. And my son has inherited it - apparently, it is transmitted only through the male line. He is not crazy, no, it's something else._

 _He is always in his thoughts, he almost does not react to anyone's voice - he referred to his mother's, but after her death his condition became even more frightening._

 _He is almost always harmless, but only if he isn't frightened. Please, take him with you. He cannot survive without supervision. I have no one except you, no friends. Save my son._

 _P.S. He is active only when he sees a musical instrument. And - this is not a father's blindness, - my son is a really good composer. Not as great as you are, of course, but his music is beautiful. Please ... teach him to remember her._

 _Saying good-bye forever,_

 _Nadir_

Erik thoughtfully put down the letter on a glass table next to a deep leather chair in which he sat.

He loved the luxury throughout, even if this luxury shared borders with bad taste. Perce's Paris apartment, in which Erik stopped for a few days, was already gorgeous, but he told Earl to furnish it in the most expensive way. The least did it, gritting his teeth – his British soul, accustomed to the compactness, ached from such a crime against the beauty and grace.

Earl was standing at the window, holding the curtain, intently watching the entrance of the house. Then came the carriage, two men in emphasized oriental clothes came out of it - those who did not wish to change their traditions even in the center of the civilized world still existed. They armed a slouching figure wrapped in a cloak.

"They are here," Earl notified.

He stood behind Erik's chair and stared at the door. His figure was barely seen in the twilight of the room, but it was clear that he wore a mask.

The door was knocked at.

"Come in," Erik said.

The door of the room opened, and a young man appeared on the threshold – all alone, already unaccompanied. He did not seem to notice either Erik or his minions. It was like he was looking through them.

"Hello, Ram," Erik said, starting a conversation, but the young man did not answer. "I'm a friend of your father, Nadir," Erik continued, but with no result. Ram did not answer him.

There was something strange in his eyes. They were both wild and soft, like an animal's, but at the same time like a human's...

He was handsome, without any external blemish. He did not befit Erik. But he was Perce's son.

"This is all your idea, you talked me into this charity," he said in a low voice, referring to Earl. "Please, take charge."

Earl stepped forward into the light.

"I'll be your guardian, Ram."

Ram did not reply. His wandering eyes suddenly stopped on the piano that stood in the room, and he went to the instrument. The fingers of his right hand were constantly moving, as if he went through invisible rosary. Ram sat down at the piano and moved his hand over the keyboard, as if he was cold, and the keys were a welcoming warming flame.

Erik rolled his eyes. He was sure that from under the hand of this strange, crazy boy nothing but a cacophony could appear. He was thinking hard to bring Ram to the hospital, when suddenly...

The music, that swept the strong chords in the room and reflected from the far wall, was beautiful. As Ram played, Erik's astonishment grew stronger. His music was not something familiar - it sounded surreal, fantastic. Like _Phantom's_ music should sound.

"Perhaps, we should give this boy a chance," Erik said quietly, so that only Earl could hear him. "But you're going to watch him. It is obvious that he is not in his right mind."

.

In March that year Erik went to America. He was already bored by two of his charges, none of which was close to him in spirit. Erik no longer cared about what happened to Ram - he left him for Earl to take care. Well, Earl ... Earl was too highly moral to Erik's point of view, too ... humane. Throughout his life he, as Erik knew, did not kill a single person, in contrast to Gary, on the hands of which blood almost never dried, until the election into a personal retinue of "The Phantom of the Opera".

Erik had his own channels through which he was reported about potentially suitable new recruits. He sometimes marveled how many unappreciated geniuses were there in the world. For example, he was just going to take a Welshman into his retinue, when he got this letter from Nadir. Then Erik was no longer interested in the Welshman, and he went overseas, as he vaguely heard of an American Psycho, who was at hospital in New York, like Bedlam in London, and wrote marvelous music.

Of course, he was disfigured. As a result of some crazy chemical experiment he damaged his face quite badly with acid. The Psychopath was called Hugo.

Erik explained almost nothing to his "sons" before he left. He just told them not to come to the surface and in any case not to go to the territory of his lair. The restrictions were simple and clear for Earl.

Erik returned a month later. Earl did not even notice his return until he called them to introduce a new member of the Phantom family to them.

Hugo's wry smile, more similar to a grin, made Earl shiver even before he said a word. He didn't have a mask, and the red, charred scars on his face remained uncovered, ready to scare anyone. But not those who were just the same. He was tall and very thin, which made him a bit similar to Erik. His hair was matted and stood upright, forming a ridge. In general, the impression would be repulsive even with a mask. Unlike Earl, who looked like a gentleman in his elegant mask.

"So, this is Hugo," Erik spoke, interrupting tense silence with his quiet lazy voice. "He takes the western cave."

Earl didn't like this perspective: the western cave was very close to his, the North, and he didn't want to live near such a person.

"Hugo," Erik continued, "these are Earl and Ram. Now they are your family."

Hugo bowed with the same disgusting smile. Earl just tilted his head.

"Earl," Erik said, "tomorrow you'll make a mold for Hugo's mask. But save the clay, it is valuable. But first, show him in the dungeon. You're neighbors anyway."

Earl nodded and gestured Hugo to follow him. And so their first meeting ended, during which no one even heard the voice of the new Phantom. Carefully taking Ram's hand, Earl took him out of the room, not even looking back at Hugo.

They walked through the corridors in silence, until suddenly Hugo spoke up:

"Why are you holding his hand? Let it go. You behave as if he is blind."

Earl stopped and slowly turned to Hugo. The least raised his eyebrow skeptically and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer.

"He has a bad sense of direction," Earl said quietly.

"Why is he even here? He is not like us. Who is he? Erik's bastard?

"It's none of your business," Earl answered through clenched teeth. "Your dungeon is right down the hall and to the right."

Hugo shrugged his shoulders and walked forward.

"I have already guessed, I'm not an idiot. This guy is crazy," he added on the run.

.

A few weeks had passed since Hugo settled at the Opera. He already wore a snow-white mask and a black cloak. He brought all his chemicals and devices with him, and of course, his poisons.

Earl still could not forget how Hugo called Ram crazy. He could not forgive. He felt inexplicable warmth for this young man and did not consider him a madman. Seriously ill - maybe. Not similar to others - definitely yes.

Ram wasn't a Phantom, and he did not have his own dungeon. He lived in one of the rooms in Earl's den. There he had an organ. And he needed nothing more.

On that day, Earl worked on composing the ballet. He was not too fond of operas. He cared about nothing except music, and he did not notice Ram, who slipped out, and recovered only when he heard a loud, bloodcurdling scream.

Earl jumped up and rushed to the incessant howling sounds from a nearby cave. When Earl pushed the heavy door leading to Hugo's private laboratory, he saw a disaster: Ram was lying near the tank with thick, poisonous yellow liquid, pressing his hands to his face. His whole body was shaking, he moaned and cried out in pain. Hugo stood over his hunched figure. His eyes looked glassy, and a faint smile played on his lips, that made Earl shudder.

The Englishman dropped to his knees in front of his brother, still not fully understanding what had happened. Was he dying? What did this man do to him? When Earl was able to take away Ram's palms from his face, he saw that the young man's perfect skin reddened terribly on some areas, and on others was even black.

The liquid from the tank burned it almost to the bone, leaving nothing from the previous appearance. From that moment Ram met all Erik's requirements. He was no different from the Phantom of the Opera.

.

Time went on. Gradually, the new occupant of the dungeon got used to it and did not explore the endless corridors anymore. He was bored - music and chemical experiments caused nausea, and he could come up with nothing new. Not without grief in his voice Earl offered Hugo to walk with him on the Opera's roof, but he hesitated. It was possible that Earl was still pissed because of Ram and could simply thrust him over the ledge.

In fact, Hugo almost immediately decided that it was better to remain in the dungeons near his laboratory, than plod on slippery stairs, hide in the shadows and watch the people, as he his "brother" did. At least, conducting several entertaining experiments was a noble idea. So he thought.

However, after an hour, he still went up, concluding that he was too lazy in all his intentions, and he saw - or rather, heard - an interesting scene.

Young ballet dancers rarely came on the lower floors of the Opera. But then they were sitting in a circle, listening to Joseph Buquet, pulling their sharp noses. They seemed to be fully involved. Hugo stood in front of the place where the ballet dancers were sitting and tried to make invisible - he knew how.

The young man became especially interested when he realized that Bouquet was drunk and was again scaring ladies by telling stories about them, about the Phantoms of the Opera. Or about one Phantom, who lived under the Opera House a long time ago, and left a mark in history.

"Fear him, rats," Joseph muttered vaguely, shaking his thick arms. "For he is as horrible as death. No, he is Death himself! A terrible fire lights in his eye sockets, and he wears the face of a dead man risen from the grave. You must beware the Phantom, because he always hunts for young girls like you. Once you hear his voice, do not look for salvation!"

Buquet made a sudden movement towards the ladies and they shudder, like a flock of birds. There was a fuss and screams and curses, for which brave Madame Giry would definitely kicked her pupils.

Old Buquet laughed since it was a small victory. Soon noises subsided.

Hugo saw the dancers' faces, flushed with anger, through a slit of the secret passage. They certainly could not beat Buquet for his actions, but failed to keep their tongues.

"You are monstrous!"

"Let the Phantom catch you first!"

"Ugly old man."

"The Phantom never touches a person," Joseph grumbled offended, "Who is not afraid of him. Moreover, I know that you should always keep your hand at eye level. And also be careful. You somehow just do not know, right?"

The dancers looked at each other. The old man put the bottle of whiskey on the table and beckoned them to come closer, wanting to continue his terrible story. The dancers' features softened, and the curiosity was seen in their eyes again - but they did not want to get caught on the same hook twice.

"No, thank you," Jamme spoke.

"Count me out," Adele echoed.

Soon all the girls left the room. Hugo heard them whisper about the Phantom and cross with shiver: "If only the dead did not touch me!"

At first pissed by such behavior, Hugo suddenly chuckled. Fears might give him another reason to have fun, and maybe return former authority over human minds to the Phantoms.

After all, even when Erik went out to the surface, all the Paris public wondered what kind of a Phantom he was. Many saw him, some newspapermen wrote articles confirming or dispelling the myth about the Phantom of the Opera.

But did they know what happened to him now, after all these years?

Hugo's eyes flashed with anger and mischief, he himself began to tremble from the thought in his mind: to cause terror for all these little sillies, make them bow their curly heads! Bring order to this chaotic zoo in the end.

Hugo's behavior was a kind of grim amusement, giving him a greater joy, than, for example, music (it was too much of it at the Opera!) or beauty (he had seen enough of lovely faces, too).

He then had no idea what all these portend big plans for the return of the Phantom of the Opera would cause. In fact, he did not quite know how to begin such an important and, above all, nasty business.

"We need to start with small things!" Hugo thought, not inclined to doubt for too long. "Something unusual. Let's look, what all these people will do..."

He began to smile again – and, in fact, the last time Hugo smiled was before the incident, that spoiled half of his face - but it was a smile full of cunning, strength and darkness. He was ready to break into the dungeon and strangle his brothers with kisses, and at the same time wished to remain silent - let it be only his triumph!

Running down the stairs, he held his head with both his hands. Nervous laugh and enthusiastic exclamations were heard from him:

"I'm here! The mysterious Phantom of the Opera! I am here, I am here! I am here again!.."

.

Simon was sitting on the stairs with a peevish expression. He looked very funny: an eleven-year-old boy in a suit, plump, blue-eyed, he sat on the steps of the golden stairs covered with a red carpet. All this did not suit him, and he seemed even smaller against the background of the luxurious foyer of the Opera.

He glumly watched as his cousin Caroline and her cousin Marguerite played downstairs. Caroline and Marguerite's uncle, M. Firmin, the director of the Opera, was sitting far away from them, on a banquette. His once brown, but faded with years eyes shone with happiness at the sight of the two girls. He loved them, especially the young daughter of his younger brother, Marguerite. Then she was four.

Her father died a year before, leaving the family almost nothing. His wife and daughter were in Paris, at his home, but they coped with great difficulty, and Firmin helped them as best he could.

His sister, when she married about fifteen years ago, moved to Marseille. She didn't have sons, but had a daughter, Caroline, playful and very loud. Caroline was two years older than Marguerite and much more adapted to life than her cousin. She knew how to steal food from the kitchen, how to make a slingshot and how to catch a caterpillar.

Simon did not get along with any of the girls. Caroline was his cousin patrilineally, and Marguerite was not his blood relative at all, but adults made him call her sister.

She bothered him. She was too mannered, too urban, too white - in fact, everything about her was too much. He eagerly counted the days before his departure back to Marseille, but always strayed from the account.

That morning uncle Firmin - who also was not his relative - led them to the Opera, to arrange a celebration for his nieces. Then they are laughing and circling the foyer, their bright, lightly dresses fluttered and the girls presented themselves important ladies invited there to the ball like the ones that were held at the Opera for Christmas or another premier.

Simon felt like a stranger. Neither his father nor his uncle get along with Firmin, Simon came to Paris because his mother had persuaded Caroline's mother to take the boy with them to show him the capital and at the same time get rid of the boy for a couple of months.

Simon's mother was from a noble family, and his father - from a family of wealthy people, wealthy Marseilles confectioners. His family was richer than de Blois and younger Firmin families together, but the aristocrat Firmin Sr. was irritated by it. And so Simon was sitting on the stairs all alone.

He was so fed up with Caroline and Marguerite, than he turned away and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, his idyll was interrupted by frightened cries, followed by a deathly silence. Simon opened his eyes and… saw nothing: darkness reigned in the lobby. All of the chandeliers and lamps were extinguished, although burned a minute ago.

Then a bright flame cut the darkness, then another, the third, the fourth - the candles on the perimeter of the room lit by themselves.

No one shouted, there was not a breath - everyone were frozen with fear.

In a huge hall a cold, chilling laugh echoed, which froze the blood.

The candles were extinguished.

In the corridor near the lobby he heard the tramp of ten feet and there was a frightened women's cry:

"He's here! The Phantom of the Opera!"

.

Another New Year was celebrated in the Opera - the fifteenth since Erik had last seen Christine in a domino mask. Then she was sitting trembling, clutching the hands of her well-be seen fiance and hysterically describing what horrors she had endured in the lair of the mysterious man in the mask. When Raul asked what frightened her so much, she could not think of the answer, and breathed out the very words that sounded in Erik's head even now: "Poor, miserable Erik!"

She was slender, young, with a delicate blush on her cheeks and big blue eyes. Her skin seemed so thin that the veins shone on the temples. Fearful, silent Christine - she shuddered and took a look around at any unexpected sound. Always with fear looking for _His_ face in gloomy shadows.

Yet this stupid girl loved Erik. Though not enough to remain in his dark world, forever forgetting about the light.

Being in good mood, Erik always forgave her fear and weakness. In the end, she thought of him as a father, a mentor, an Angel, but not the man she loved, and her love was not strong enough for obvious reasons. But in his worst days Erik cursed her, he called her the empty-headed little demoness and regretted that he gave Christine any choice at all. Always trembling in genuine horror, she could not take weighty decisions - so how could he know that in that fateful day she didn't just make a mistake?..

His compassion, his good half - that's what killed their love. Erik thought that he saved these qualities for nothing. Crazy fury appeared in his eyes when he thought he could choose another way. Giving her no choice from the beginning. Turn the scorpion! And increasingly, he wanted to leave Paris, not to remain in the power of those thoughts.

But he held back. Firstly, because he was old. Secondly, because bad memories found him everywhere, not only in France but abroad as well.

"What is that?" A familiar voice broke into his memories and distracted Erik from gloomy thoughts.

Earl waved a heavy dusty folder. Erik gave his so called son a hard look - and Earl immediately hoisted the folder back. Only then did the "father" remarked:

"It's "Don Juan Triumphant." The opera worthy of the angels in heaven and the demons in hell. The only time when my music lit a special fire. I was looking for this fire for a long time, Earl. No doubt, you would have appreciated the "Don Juan", but I do not allow anyone to listen to it."

"Why?"

"The music is a product of a fantasy too desperate."

"Is it so dangerous?"

"Oh yes," Erik said reluctantly. "Don Juan" is destined to remain in this folder forever, and when I die, you will burn it, Earl. I cannot trust such a serious matter to anyone else."

Earl shrugged. It was not the first time when he did not understand the Erik's reasons, but that day he felt the gulf between them especially sharply. He paused for a moment, and then left. He slipped through the door, like a real ghost.

From somewhere in the corridor Erik heard:

"I am here, I am the mysterious Phantom of the Opera!"

"Honestly!" Earl exclaimed angrily in response. "What the hell are you yelling here, Hugo?"

But the "loudmouth" shook with laughter. No longer listening to their squabbles, Erik opened the folder and began to read the ideal lines, perfect marks. At the end of earthly existence _Don Juan_ could not damage his intellect, and he was with some pleasure - and pain - immersing in the memories of the time when his hand and handwriting were hard, when there was music and a female voice in his ears, so similar to the voice of an Angel...

.

The clock almost struck ten, and Marguerite was sitting in the director's office. Morning sun shone through the windows - still cold, as if shimmering through the fog. Margo took care of breakfast without the help of Madame Giry, although the least was already at work.

Munching bread and cheese, the owner listened to the muffled voices of the dancers, waking up, washing and preparing for practice. The Opera gradually came to life, and Marguerite remembered the events which took place four days ago.

The memories stuck her head like shards, and did not want to leave the girl's thoughts, even though enough time had already passed. Maybe she had dreamed it all?..

"Oh, Marguerite," she muttered helplessly, feeling that things would change now.

When Caroline returned from dungeons, she wished to erase what she had seen from her memory for good. But Margo didn't forget anything. She returned again and again to those corridors, those bare walls. But most of all she was thinking about a young man who called her an angel, and his eyes full of pain. She had never seen such eyes before.

After breakfast Margo, sliding the plate, noticed a small envelope. It was strange, but it seemed that the letter was not on the table before she came. On a magnificent stamp paper her name and surname were written by neat, orderly, and obviously masculine handwriting. She recognized the handwriting - the letter which she and Caroline received after the masked ball was written the same way.

Of course, who else could write it?

Taking the knife for paper, Margo carefully opened the envelope.


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER VII**

 _To Mademoiselle Firmin,_

 _I sincerely ask you to excuse me for troubling you. Perhaps, you are very busy, because your cousin has decided to forget about the fact that she is in charge of the Opera as well as you are._

 _I wouldn't ask you if there wasn't an urgent need. Perhaps you have not forgotten about my unfortunate brother Ram, who considers you his muse. So, since he has brought you here, he tirelessly repeats that the Angel of Music has to come back to him. He became more active and aggressive, that is dangerous for him._

 _I understand that you have the right to refuse - in fact, we are no one to you, and you may not want to honor us with your presence. However, I ask you to come. Maybe if you regularly visit my brother, he will feel better._

 _With the hope of understanding,_

 _Earl_

Since that morning, Earl possessed the desire to abandon the idea at least three times. Invite a stranger, moreover a fragile girl, here, in the dungeons, for the blind pursuit of hope that her company will affect Ram.

Earl imagined how stupid it was, how many complications caused these visits, and what responsibility he shouldered over. It was definitely necessary to keep these visits in secret from brothers and also hide their numbers from Mademoiselle Firmin. And it was not so pleasant, because the girl would start to come whenever she wants. Exploring his home, his nature...

Erik once told him that curiosity was the most infamous feature that women got from the devil. Earl did not doubt the truth of these words and knew that because of her age, all of her sensibility, peculiar for young creatures, Marguerite was curious. That's why Earl did not want to see her again. But for Ram...

For Ram, he put on the cloak and went upstairs to one of the entrances of the lair. In the letter he advised Marguerite Firmin, that he would wait there. But the guest lingered.

Maybe something happened, and she would not come, after all. Or Mademoiselle Firmin proved wiser than he thought, and decided to ignore the invitation? Then his schedule would remain normal and the day would be wonderfully quiet.

When in the silence was finally broken with the quiet steps, Earl raised his head and squinted. Smooth movement, frail figure, thin hand reaching out to feel the space...

It could only be her, who did not notice him in the shade. How could she stand so close and be so inconsiderate!

Earl came up to her, and then, catching the movement, she flinched. She pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress a startled cry.

"Excuse me," Earl said. "I did not want to scare you."

Marguerite stared at him for a moment as if did not recognized the man, and then her shoulders slumped and the expression of fear faded from her face, replaced by guilt.

'No, I should apologize. I did not notice you, because I was completely in my thoughts. All I was thinking about was your letter..."

"So, you still doubt."

Marguerite looked at him and shook her head:

"I do not know how I can be useful to your brother, but I want to help him."

Earl went down the tunnel, turning occasionally and each time checking whether Marguerite was lagging behind.

"Actually," the man said, stopping at the wall on which a torch was fastened, "I'm not sure if you are able to help Ram. I called you because he would continue to seek a meeting with his Angel, and therefore expose himself to danger."

"I understand," Marguerite replied thoughtfully. "I just do not want to annoy you."

Well, well, she almost read his thoughts.

The flame was sparkling in Earl's eyes, while he was examining the symbols on the wall, which at first glance seemed meaningless circles, jumping up and down, but in fact were the surest path pointer in the dungeons. Only the Phantoms were able to understand those symbols, for them Erik invented that system of signs. No matter in what part of the dungeon his successors strayed, they could always find a way out.

"What are these signs?" Quietly, but incredibly seriously asked Marguerite. Earl immediately removed the torch from the wall and walked away.

"Landmarks," he said shortly, turning again. He was not walking fast on purpose, but Marguerite's one step was only a half of a calm male's step, and she could hardly keep up.

Having reached the cherished doors, Earl let the visitor ahead, and tried to be polite. However, all his hospitality was the fact that he offered Marguerite to take a seat while he went for Ram, and the question whether she was hungry. The guest refused, but her face changed.

"I forgot, Monsieur ..." she muttered, extracting something from the pocket of her dress. Earl did not immediately realize what happened when Marguerite gave him a thick envelope. "You gave me no instructions where to leave your money. To tell the truth, I did not understand why the Phantom of the Opera needed that amount of money. But now it's clear to me that you probably spend a lot on Ram's treatment."

"My..."

Earl tried not to lose his equanimity, but for a moment the surprise appeared in his voice.

"Twenty thousand francs."

God damn Destler! Earl had no idea why he had to blush for his ideas, meanwhile, Marguerite Firmin looked at him with piercing eyes, as if feeling the lie. He did not want to take the money. In the end, he had his own ways of earning, as did Hugo and Gary. It seemed that only Destler had no chance to use his cunning.

"Ahem, of course. Thank you. Leave it on the table, and I'll go wake Ram..."

Finally nodding, Earl left the room. He could avoid all that excitement, if the girl did not come at all...

.

Raised voices were heard from the director's office for quite a time, in one of which an attentive listener could recognize Carlotta's dramatic soprano, and in another - lyric - Caroline de Blois's.

The ladies were arguing from the very moment as the main soloist crossed the threshold of the office, and there still was no resolution of the discussion. The passing by chorus girls bounced and hurried away every time one of the women raised an angry voice.

"I repeat, any understudy is out of question!" Carlotta waved her hands. "I always play my performances myself. I appeared on the scene for many years, and never had a replacement!"

"It's true," Caroline exclaimed. "Because the performances were canceled and the money had to be given back to the audience. The Opera could afford something like this in the past. But in case you have not noticed, we are trying to restore the prestige of our theater. To avoid sudden cancellations, you need to select the understudy among the chorus girls!"

Carlotta went on shaking her head and shouting Italian "No" angrily, which annoyed Caroline terribly. Everyone in the Opera knew that Carlotta learned French long time ago, but for some reason the diva resolutely did not want to get rid of her Italian accent. Believing, perhaps, that it embellished her speech. Caroline did not think so. She was already seething from the necessity to wade through not always clear tirade.

"It is not a subject for discussion," Caroline said, crossing her arms. "I'll start the audition."

Carlotta paused, then her forehead smoothed, and an arrogant smile appeared on her lips.

"Right. This is not a subject for discussion."

No sooner the headmistress sighed with relief as Carlotta snapped:

"I'm leaving! And I will not come back, unless you change your mind!"

"I will not," Caroline exclaimed, losing patience.

"Each new manager is worse than the previous one! You think you are so clever in your early twenties! Sei come un bambino!"

The door slammed before Caroline answered. She banged on the table and sat down in her chair with a heavy sigh.

.

Carlotta broke into her dressing room and hissed curses, wiping brushes for applying makeup, favorite hand mirror and powder off the table, all in search of kidskin gloves.

Putting them on, the diva cursed the new managers and contemptuously laughed, wondering how quickly she would receive a note of apology. Oh yeah, they would quickly realize what treasure they lost! Neither of the chorus girls could fulfill this role as fair as Carlotta could! Their voices were so mediocre...

Icy laughter reached the woman's hearing, making her silent at once.

It could be... maybe it was the Phantom of the Opera! The time when Carlotta thought that it only existed as a children's horror story had long passed. She was anxiously listening to the silence, afraid to move.

For several years, she didn't tease that local legend, tried to avoid any conversation which mentioned the Phantom of the Opera, and became quite superstitious. But still she invoked his rage.

The lamps in the dressing room suddenly darkened. Carlotta rushed to the door with a frightened sigh, but it didn't open. She was locked inside.

"Somebody!" exclaimed the Italian, sobbing with her own helplessness.

The laughter sounded again somewhere in the distance. This time it was low, growling like a tiger. A dangerous laugh.

Carlotta went on pulling the handle. She even began to cry, though she rarely allowed herself weakness. "Ubaldo... Anybody..."

Out of the darkness came a quiet, _ghostly_ bell. Carlotta still could not guess the source of it, and only crossed herself and repeated something unintelligible, confusing words and swallowing tears rolling down her cheeks.

And then there was silence, and one single candle lit on the dressing table, dim and barely covering the oval mirror. Carlotta, white as a sheet, stretched her hand to the candle, but as soon as her hands closed around a thin wax, she saw a face in the mirror.

A horrible, scared, uneven face with mad eyes shining in the darkness like black agate, and an insane smile, dissecting disgusting red skin. More than that, Carlotta saw a knuckled, fitted by a thin layer of pink skin cheekbone. But before everything she saw formed in one picture and she find an ability to scream again, the bell rang, and icy metal bit into her neck, squeezing her throat.

"Carlotta, Carlotta," a pleasant male voice hissed, "you have five minutes before the rehearsal starts."

She gasped and clutched over the chain links, helplessly scratching them with her nails, but unable to escape. She felt that her head became heavier because of this pressure and saw the blood rushing to her eyes through the mirror.

"Carlotta," the voice repeated, "why don't you answer?"

And at that moment everything stopped. Carlotta leaned to her dressing table, breathing heavily. Her neck was untouched, light glimmered everywhere. The woman burst into tears, covering her eyes with her hands.

No wonder her mother had told her about monsters living in old mirrors in her early childhood, but she never listened. And did not listen to the dancers, too, considering them stupid, ignorant rats...

Her legs shaking, Carlotta came to the door and pushed it open, nearly hitting the concertmaster standing near it.

"I'm leaving," she whispered with a voice breaking with tears, which had neither pride nor anger. "Tell the headmistresses, I will not come back, no matter how they will beg! Let them cope with this monster!"

She pushed the stunned concertmaster and headed for the exit, checking the throat as if the terrifying dents from the chains might appear at any moment.

Thus, the rumors about Carlotta's leave appeared in the Opera again.

It should not surprise anyone, because at least once a month the diva vowed that she was leaving the theater for good. She solely made it for the lacrimal persuasions, gifts and promises of new roles.

That day things have changed, and the chorus girls whispered among themselves, that the old serpent completely lost her mind. Many of them were convinced that she came out through the front doors truly for the last time.

.

Music session lasted for about two hours, during which Marguerite forgot the sound of silence. The melody being born with Ram's hands was alarming, quite strange, but beautiful, full of fragile, stable sounds resembling rustling of rain or the sound of crystal. Then Ram was alive as ever, and the keyboard under his fingers sparkled as if electrified. And yet the man was quite relaxed and his face was that of a man, who had perceived happiness...

When the melody stopped, Marguerite still wasn't able to recover. With gentle persuasion Earl took Ram to his room, like a child who needed rest, and Marguerite stayed in the living room.

She thought for a long time, if a tray with cups of steaming tea was for her. She never touched the cup, feeling strange, numbing embarrassment. When Earl came back and froze in the doorway, her shyness only increased. Marguerite felt his distrust and tension due to the presence of the visitor. Approaching the table, Earl gently pushed her cup closer to her.

"This is for you," he said politely, but forcing himself.

Marguerite thanked him quietly and looked around for the first time, sipping her tea. Pyramids of books, some yellowed by time and others almost new, rose on the floor and tables. Of course, Marguerite had no doubt that Earl was very well-read, but she lacked the courage to ask either about his preferences, or about his favourite work.

She gave a glance around the room with little furniture, which made the subterranean dwelling cozy, and admiringly tried to see the illustrations heaped on the table - also Earl's? Or Ram's? After listening to his music, she was not sure what else this man was capable of.

Finally, an unnoticeable case against the wall between the two seats caught Marguerite's attention. Her eyes widened with delight, and before she was able to understand her aspiration, the question slipped from her lips:

"Do you... really play the violin, Monsieur?"

Earl turned sharply at her as if she pulled him out of personal thoughts, and blinked.

"I am attached to all the musical instruments, but especially the violin. And why are you so interested in it?"

Marguerite blushed and looked down at her cup. Her voice was very quiet.

"It's just... I play it, too... quite good, as I was told."

Earl looked at her indifferently, his expression didn't change, but there was a tough evaluation in the look, as Margo thought.

" _You_ , mademoiselle?" Earl asked. Marguerite regretted her words immediately and blushed. Her face was like a full-blown poppies.

"Do you think it's strange?"

"Playing music is an integral part of education in any self-respecting family, it does not surprise me. But the violin is purely male instrument. I do not know any woman who can play it well. Also, you say that you play quite good, whereas I cannot, even after many years, say that my level is satisfying."

"Excuse me," Margo said immediately, clearly realizing her mistake. She did not say anything more, and soon the silence in the living room became depressing.

Suddenly Earl reluctantly handed her the violin.

"If you know how to play, then do it."

"Do you want me to..."

"To demonstrate your skills," the man replied calmly.

In his view Marguerite clearly read: "You do not know how to play!" Her whole body stiffened. She took the instrument out of his hands, feeling her fingers, which were to embrace the bow, tremble deceitfully.

Margo suddenly remembered her early lessons, when the violin screamed and ached at the slightest touch, not wanting to submit to the will of the silly small child. And everything repeated again. She just could not play, but could not return the violin and give up, too.

The first sound was so miserable that Earl closed his eyes, and Marguerite shivered. The bow touched the strings again, but nothing changed - the instrument still sounded as if she never played the violin at all.

She knew better than anyone else that she could play. But the need to proof her abilities took away all her skills. Margo was still trying to gather her thoughts, when Earl said icily:

"Enough. For how long have you been playing, Mademoiselle?"

"Ten years," Marguerite whispered not feeling the lips or tongue.

"This is quite a long period of time," the Englishman said dryly.

She wanted to disappear because of the eloquent look he gave her. The silence thickened again around them, and soon Earl noticed that Ram was long asleep. It was a fairly direct way to show the guest that the visit was over. She herself was glad to leave.

The more Marguerite thought about her disgrace, the more tears burned her eyes. Escorting her upstairs Earl did not seem to notice her sudden sadness. And how could he even notice anything if she was always equally silent and anxious?

.

After a quarrel with Carlotta Caroline's mood changed from bad into a dreadful one. She did not know what to do if the soloist would not return - and both the concertmaster and Madame Giry assured her that this time Carlotta went mad - and did not know whether she wanted the diva's return. She felt that next time they meet, Caroline would want to throw something heavy in the Italian's face, barely hearing her shrill, indignant voice.

"What a pity that Marguerite was not present during this scene!" Caroline thought. "She's always absent just when I need her the most!"

And added aloud with irritation:

"And she calls herself the headmistress of the Opera. She walks in the dungeons, and I have to solve all the problems!"

That day, Caroline witnessed her cousin willingly went there. An attempt to stop her failed, Caroline was able only to hinder Margo for a quarter of an hour. She hoped that during that time the one who was waiting for Marguerite down there, would decide that she did not come to the meeting. But that was, probably, wrong.

Caroline sighed and looked at the contract in front of her, yellowed by time. It could be seen, that it had not been updated since Carlotta was invited to the troupe of Grand Opera. For many years, the diva must have become a kind of a legend, a part of history...

But some traditions needed to be abolished for the sake of making new ones. But was there anyone to replace the departed diva?

"Why was she so impatient to leave before the start of «Il Muto» rehearsals," Caroline said with displeasure. "We need someone new... someone special..."

But no name came into her mind. Among the chorus girls there really were girls with strong voices, but some did not fit on the type, while others' tone was as distasteful as Carlotta's. No, the audience could not be surprised by these.

"If only we could invite another diva. A younger one, more talented and more compliant!" Caroline sighed. "Things would definitely be on the rise..."

After extinguishing the lamp on the desk, she got dressed and left the room without having the slightest idea that all this time she was watched and listened carefully.

.

If Earl knew how deeply he wounded Marguerite with his statements, he would regret his every word. But he believed that he evaluated her abilities deservedly, and was a man of firm who didn't stand lies.

Marguerite found him ruthless that evening. Without even knowing it, she really wanted to please Earl, to impress him by her playing... Instead she deserved only a cold contempt.

Changing into a house dress, she clearly heard his remark ringing in her mind: "I do not know any woman who can play the violin well!"

Marguerite knelt beside the bed and looked under it. The case of dark wood was on its place, and there was not a single speck of dust on it, which, of course, showed the value of the gift received from Uncle Firmin.

Yes, a golden inscription was still seen on the case: _"For dear niece from R.F."_ When uncle had handed a six-year old Marguerite the violin, her mother had nearly went crazy with indignation.

Looking back, Margo realized that uncle had hardly bought this instrument only to fulfill her wish. Rather, he had wanted to act on the nerves of his sister-in-law and at the same time do something extravagant. He had even lashed out for that!

Marguerite did not remember exactly why she wanted a violin as a present. Maybe, she had heard somewhere how wonderful the instrument sounded. Perhaps, in the Opera? The best musicians of the world were in its orchestra!

She pressed her violin to her chest and cried softly. Was it all for nothing? Had she given all that years and her soul to this stubborn instrument for nothing? Tamed it, pacified... Was it all to shiver in an attempt to give birth the lightest melody?

She closed her eyes and held the bow across the strings. Quietly, cautiously, fearing a repetition of the terrible sound... But the tender singing of the violin touched her ears.

She played, trying to get rid of all the grievances of the past day. Until the maid said that Mademoiselle de Blois was back and that everything was ready for dinner.


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER VIII**

 _To Mademoiselle Caroline de Blois, the mistress of the Opera,_

 _Since the Opera is reigned by two young ladies, I had a difficult choice to whom to address my advice and suggestion. And I am pleased to inform you that I have chosen you, Mademoiselle de Blois._

 _I had an opportunity to watch you during rehearsals. And I can tell that you do care about music. Having a good ear and voice, you, of course, have noticed the decline of the Opera._

 _Each performer individually can be criticized, but now I advise to stop on the diva of the Grand Opera, Carlotta, who has always been given major female roles. It must be admitted that she is old, her voice already thinned and became woolly. And the audience has to pinch their ears. Did you hear her voice rattling in the sixth octave?_

 _Therefore, I suggest you an alternative. A person with the exquisite taste would have evaluated my decision. But read carefully._

 _There is one girl among the chorus girls, whose voice - I can guarantee that - will one day be the best in France. She does not look like a diva now. Rather, she looks like a scared child. But as time passes, her fear, uncertainty and tightness will disappear. Madame Giry can confirm my words. All this time she has been educating the girl as her own daughter._

 _The name of this little star is Christine Rossini, and she not only sings delightfully, but also is good-looking and young, and educated. Give this little one a chance and she will show all her best. The very next day after the premiere of Il Muto (provided that Mademoiselle Rossini gets the role of the Countess) there will be no room at all in the Opera._

 _It is profitable, is not it?_

 _But I have to warn you that if you ignore the advice of the mysterious patron, it will hurt him a lot, and the troubles in the Opera will continue. Think hard, Mademoiselle de Blois._

 _Forever yours,_

 _The mysterious patron_

"Christine, huh?" Scratching her chin thoughtfully, Caroline murmured.

The letter fell on her when she crossed the main hall, but it wasn't surprising to the beauty. She already got used to the oddities of that place; moreover the ghost letters had not yet started to molest her.

Banging loud with her shoes, she hurried into the audience, and faced two dancers in the doors. They were late. In such circumstances, Caroline usually didn't miss the chance to use her Marseille vocabulary, which horrified young ballet dancer, even made them cry.

But that day, when Caroline looked up, the two girls, looking alike as if they were sisters, burst upon her eyes, shifting from foot to foot, - Christine Rossini and Meg Giry. Seeing the mistress they blushed. Seizing the moment, Caroline glared at the dark-haired chorus girl. And what was so special about her, that Mademoiselle Rossini?

Twice leaner than the Giry, with sharp shoulders, narrow neck and small, but expressive features, she looked like a clumsy teenage girl, though she had long been out of that age. She had very beautiful hair - thick and curly, - and her dark eyes were like black pearls.

That face looked so strange for that place! There was nothing in it either from the French or the English. The dark skin and eye color evoked something south. Caroline caught the charm in the chorus girl, but could not imagine how _she_ could sing divinely. She would definitely be scared to death on the stage!

Meg slightly tilted her head to the mistress in a polite gesture, but Christine kept looking straight on Caroline, so that their eyes crossed. It could seem that the chorus girl looked at the mistress with the call. But even Caroline, with all her desire to quarrel with someone that day, figured out it was nothing but a modest interest. She seemed to ask _"Why I deserve your attention?"_

"Hello, girls," Caroline said quite kindly, answering the dancers with a nod, making the feathers on her hat sway. "Both of you, no doubt, are in a hurry to class."

"We are sorry," Meg laughed, her blue eyes flashed. "We were a bit late with hot breakfast, and then I promised Christine to go to the chapel with her. So we are late. Will you allow?"

But no, Caroline did not allow. She looked back at Christine and said:

"Do you pray every morning?"

"Yes, God was good to me, mademoiselle. You see, a long time ago my poor, dying of fever father bequeathed me the Angel of Music ..."

Caroline shrugged.

"Very interesting, but your marvelous tale will wait until the next meeting," with these words the mistress pushed past the chorus girls, still clutching the letter in her hand, and went into the hall. Remaining behind her, Christine protested.

"Mademoiselle, is in your hands..."

"Christine," Meg hissed, shoving her friend with an elbow. "No time for that."

"But the handwriting," the young Rossini looked mad. "It seems so familiar. Mademoiselle de Blois knows my teacher... Wait a minute, please!" The mistress stopped; such behavior seemed wild to her. "Let me take a look at a letter at least briefly."

"I do not think it's a good idea, Christine," Caroline replied coldly. It was permissible to her as a mistress. "And hurry, please, into the hall."

Christine, having lost her composure for just a second, quickly pulled together and nodded.

Entering the hall, Caroline almost immediately got up on the stage, cleared her throat and made a small announcement. The young Rossini absorbed her every word like life-giving moisture droplets. Black eyes widened and brightened.

"I want to announce," Caroline said in a loud voice, "that an unknown performer will take part in the upcoming production of _Il Muto_. I learned about her quite by accident. I can say that the singer is a rough diamond, a nugget, which I have not met before. Mademoiselle is very young and yet inexperienced, but it is not difficult to learn how to present yourself the stage. I think that this talent is in her blood," saying that, Caroline almost exactly repeated the contents of the letter. Perhaps the writer was watching his ideas coming to life. "So, the Duchess in _Il Muto_ will be performed by..."

Christine stopped breathing. Everything floated before her eyes. He did it, really did! Her Angel of Music fulfilled his promise...

"Beatrice Nizzardo," Caroline gasped with such a pride, as if called her own name. It was quite clear that the name of the mysterious performer just come up to her mind, but in the hall it caused quite a stir.

Someone said that he had heard this name many times, while others swore that they were at her grand concert in Milan (completely missing the fact that Caroline called the singer "young " and "inexperienced"). Carlotta lost consciousness, and while Ubaldo Piangi tried to lift her (alone, without any help!), one of the chorus girls raced for smelling salts.

Most faces in the audience stretched. And that applied especially to Madame Giry, on the memory of which no opera was played without Carlotta, and unhappy Christine. She grieved the moment. At first it seemed like her unconditional triumph, her moment of glory...

Shaking her head, she backed away and ran from the hall in tears.

.

Margo was just entering the hall, when Christine bumped into her. She did not even apologize, but ran on, not paying attention to Marguerite.

"Christine! Christine, stop!"

The room was a sly, everyone argued on something. Marguerite saw Caroline near the orchestra pit, listening to screaming Carlotta with a deadpan look. Ubaldo Piangi stood near Carlotta and echoed her passionately, vigorously gesticulating.

"I think you have finished," Caroline said, as Marguerite approached her.

Carlotta, panting as if she had pulled out a tongue, turned on her heels and walked away, forcing the dancers to recoil.

"Maybe you can tell me what's going on here?" Marguerite asked.

"I have no idea what you mean," Caroline shrugged.

"I was almost knocked down by Rossini, Carlotta is ranting and raving..."

"I received a letter from our subterranean friend on the appointment of the actress for the leading role in _Il Muto_."

"From..." Margo trailed off, thinking how unlikely it was for Earl to worry about the company of the Opera.

"From the Phantom of the Opera, yes," Caroline nodded. "A stupid title. You could already tell me what his real name is."

"In any case," Marguerite frowned, "show me the letter."

Briefly viewing the note, she raised her eyebrows.

"Christine Rossini? But she dashed away in tears."

"It's true," Caroline nodded. "I said, _I received a letter_. I did not say _I followed it_. She does not deserve this role. It will be performed by Beatrice Nizzardo."

"Beatrice Nizzardo?" Marguerite's eyebrows went up again. "There is no such name."

"It's my stage name," Caroline announced calmly.

"Stage name... Caroline!" Maruerite shouted so loudly that the ballet dancer standing nearby turned. Realizing that they could not continue the conversation there, Margo grabbed Caroline and pulled her out of the room.

"You cannot perform!"

"I can. You can continue to try to save the Opera from its lack of money with your administrator's abilities and the affair with Gugot, and I will make viewers come here because of the talent of the performers."

Marguerite hid her face in her hands. She even missed the insulting words about her and Robert, so frightened she was by the prospect of Caroline's performances.

"Caroline, you're not even able to perform."

"For God's sake, Margo, it's an _opera_ ," was the reply, "I don't need to be a great actress. You'd better take care of yourself, cousin."

"What do you mean?" Looking around and lowering her voice, said Margo.

"Your frequent visits to the dungeons to a strange couple are not... normal… This frightening Earl, writing nasty letters to us, this mad boy... What's his name?"

"Ram," Marguerite answered through clenched teeth. "And he's not mad. He's just a very sick man. And I do have regrets that I told you about them."

"You're already talking like his elder brother." Caroline rolled her eyes and turned away.

Biting her lip, Marguerite departed. Taking advantage of the fact that the cousin was not looking at her, she leaned against the wall, pushed some bricks with her elbow and slipped in a secret passage...

"Well, that's enough of sulking," Caroline said. "Margo? Margo?.."

.

"At last!" Caroline thought. "Finally, my talent will be appreciated!"

Caroline winded the flower in her hands, admiring the rich scarlet hue of the petals. Her masquerade dress was the same colour. Was it a coincidence?..

Someone knocked on the door. It was a timid, hesitant knock. It could not be confused with any other. Caroline knew that Madame Giry knocked softly but confidently, and the sponsors bang on the door with their knuckles. Only her awkward cousin Simon knocked as if a mouse was scratching a wood.

"Caroline, are you soon?" Simon muttered. "The table is booked for eight o'clock. And where is Marguerite? I thought that she would go with us..."

Caroline dropped the flower in a vase with a hard breath and crossed the room. She wanted to tell Simon the whole truth about their discovery underneath the Opera, but the girl could hardly imagine her cousin's reaction. Most likely, he would call the police directly. Why risk the safety of his sisters?

Caroline paused for a moment, turning the knob.

"She feels sick," she said with a charming smile. Lies presented on a golden platter was one of the main advantages of the woman.

Simon frowned.

"She has been feeling sick in my company too often lately. If you know something, dear, do not be silent. After all, I'm not blind."

"Honestly," Caroline raised both hands, as if swearing in her ignorance. "You'll soon start talking poetry, Don Juan!"

And after a moment, Caroline loudly laughed at her own words, which seemed completely ridiculous to her cousin.

"Oh, and as far as I know the opera _Don Juan_ has never been put on our scene. The musical material based on the play would have been just great," she admitted, pulling on gloves.

"It has already been written," Simon remarked patiently. "Maybe you have forgotten? By Mozart."

"No, this opera is terribly boring," Caroline snorted. "We need something special, something new..."

Simon coughed into his fist, showing his cousin the absence of any interest in her ideas. To Caroline such neglect seemed at least unfair and perhaps offensive.

Raising her head, she left the room and walked down the corridor. Echoing footsteps rang in the deserted lobby.

Frowning, Simon followed his cousin with his eyes. Lack of Marguerite darkened his mood. But there was one consolation: a contender for the right to possess the heart of a sweet lady, this brash Robert Gugot, felt the same devastation, and was probably angry.

"Simon, I'm starving, and I will not wait forever. Hurry!"

He seemed to awake from sleep. Wincing, fending off thoughts of Marguerite.

"I'm coming," Simon muttered.

Despite the whimsical tone, Caroline was obediently waiting for her cousin in the hallway near the main staircase, and her impatience was mainly expressed by the continuous flapping of the fan. In a moment the curtains behind the girl budged, as if from the soft breath of wind. The _Voice_ came, instantly distracting Caroline from hunger.

"Don Juan", you say?" Heavy velvet curtains rustled. "Oh, this opera will burn."

Caroline snapped her fan and spun on the spot; her eyes flashed lightning. The mistress of the Opera was frightened and she put a lot of effort to keep from shouting and running away.

Behind the curtain there was a man; Caroline quickly held out her hand, but did not touch that velvet fabric, as she could not determine where the mysterious man stood. In addition, the girl did not want the Phantom to grab her arm.

"Who the hell are you?" Caroline asked, suddenly forgetting all her manners and remembering the language of Marseilles sailors. " _Another_ Phantom of the Opera? I must say, you breed like rabbits. I'll have to take action…"

The man behind the curtain laughed quietly. Caroline shivered.

"The Opera is my property, mademoiselle," the Phantom reminded. " _You_ have to express the hope that when you moved here you did not disturb me and my brothers. Well, well, you are agitated, Caroline. Do not try to find out who is talking to you. This is our first meeting, so to speak, face to face. Do not touch the curtains, please."

Caroline obeyed, coughed and took a small step back. Since _that fateful day_ she forgot about the Phantom of the Opera, the dark dungeons, the cold walls and slippery steps, on which Caroline nearly sprained her foot.

She had enough of it! Let Margo chase a mysterious stranger, if she wanted. For the true lady the travel through the mirror was enough!

"Disgusting," she said with contempt.

"You think so?" The voice sounded somewhere from the ceiling, and Caroline stared suspiciously at the chandelier. She drew back the curtain, but there was no one behind it. "Be careful, such the opera as _Don Juan_ can burn the entire Palais Garnier! But if you do decide to stage it, my brothers and I will offer a truly diabolical libretto. The opera has been waiting for its glory for twenty-five years, ever since it was written. Here, in these walls."

Caroline lifted her chin.

"I thought that there is only one Phantom and his mad brother. But you obviously are neither one nor the other. Who you are? An impostor?"

"Who are you talking to?"

That time the voice was right behind Caroline, and she almost jumped. Her heart was pounding. Raising his eyebrows, Simon was looking attentively at his cousin. Caroline shook her head.

"No one. Let's go."

.

Christine was sitting alone in the chapel, where the chorus girls went rarely. They did not have enough time for "such nonsense." But Christine went there every day, and not only to pray for her deceased father. It was here where her teacher, her protector, her Angel of Music spoke to her. From above, from the vaults of the chapel, she heard his soft, low voice.

That day, still crying, she came to demand his response: why did he do that to her? Why he lied to her expectations?

Why did he appoint an unknown singer for the main part in _Il Muto_ , for the role which was promised to her?

She did not understand, she was almost disappointed in him.

Her shoulders trembled slightly.

"Christine?" Finally his voice came.

She did not answer him.

"What happened, my child?"

"As if you do not know!" Christine jumped up and seemed to explode. "You promised me that part! You promised me that I would be the primadonna of the Opera! You... you..."

"I sent a letter to the directors," the teacher remarked calmly. "In that letter I described your talent and the fact that the part of the Countess is yours."

Christine was silent. She did not understand anything.

"But... but Mademoiselle de Blois read the letter and said Beatrice Nizzardo gets the main part..."

"Beatrice Nizzardo?" He asked. "Beatrice Nizzardo? There is no such name. _Your_ name was in the letter."

"That means... Mademoiselle de Blois ignored your request?"

"It turns out that way. But fear not, my child. She will pay for it. And you will get the part."

.

On the day of the premiere at the Opera there was an unprecedented stir. Yes, that event always excited not only the audience, but also the employees of the theater. But _Il Muto_ was a completely different case.

The so-called Beatrice Nizzardo still had not arrived at the theater. And there was not even any news is she was in Paris or even in France.

Marguerite, knowing who she was, was tired of whispering in the hallways and, having fulfilled all her director's duties, was sitting in her office, looking through an article on _Il Muto_ in the morning papers.

She was even a little grateful to her cousin for the whole story about that Italian singer, because the papers were no more interested in her unfortunate marriage.

Suddenly the door opened, and Caroline entered the office holding huge boxes. Putting them on the floor with a noise, she sat cross-legged on a chair in front of Marguerite. Her eyes sparkled, she was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. Everything showed her excitement.

Marguerite looked at her cousin. Caroline stared at her as if waiting that she would say something, but Margo was silent, her arms crossed over her chest.

Then Caroline, unable to wait for questions any longer, rattled:

"I have just been with the Opera's dressmaker. I told her that Beatrice Nizzardo would come to the theater just before the performance, and that I'll order her costume in advance. She was so worried, that old woman: _But, mademoiselle_ ", Caroline coughed, simulating old voice. " _What if the dress does not fit Signora Nizzardo!_ I assured her that it would. It definitely will!"

Caroline laughed, but sobered when she saw that Marguerite's face remained unchanged.

"Will you be there?" Caroline asked her.

"No. I do not like _Il Muto_. A vulgar thing."

"Ooh..." Caroline said. "Now I understand why Monsieur Gugot grimaced so strangely when I asked him if he would watch she show. He said he wouldn't. You'll have fun together, won't you?"

"How dare you!" Margo hissed through clenched teeth.

"Well, you have been so warm to him since… well, since Simon and I caught you together..."

"It was nothing!" Marguerite answered sharply. "And do you even care? Should you not warm up? Try on your costume jewelry? Wait for your triumph?"

Caroline rolled her eyes and stood up, too, and the lowered to her boxes.

"You are just jealous," she said. "You do not have my talent, you are only able to ogle a cute sponsor... keep up with all your good work and I'll do more interesting things... hey, Margo! Margo? Oh no, not again."

.

Beatrice Nizzardo was preparing for the premiere in her dressing room. Candles, standing on the dressing table, could not completely dispel the darkness around, and a huge mirror, which occupied almost the entire wall, could only help to guess the shape of the room.

She came to shine.

Each rhinestone, each stone on her costume reflected the dim light of candles. Pink, red and white lace looked even nobler in the shadows. Silk and satin swirled and flowed into her fingers, caressing them, when she touched a luxurious robe. Her costume. Everything needed to conquer Paris.

She was there to win.

She would put Paris on its knees. She would make everyone adore her, but would not let anyone crawl too close. No one would ever know who was hiding under the guise of reliable makeup and theatrical costumes. No one would hail her on the street.

All of them would wrestle over how Beatrice Nizzardo managed to avoid pesky reporters and came into the Opera unnoticed. They would die from the desire to know her. She would always remain a distant star.

She would shine. And the nobles of Paris would give her standing ovations in their boxes. The rich would lash out the huge bouquets of roses. Then newspapers will be singing compliments. It would be impossible to buy tickets for her performances.

She would become a star.

There was no doubt, she would.

She walked down the hall. There was no one, because the show was about to begin. It was dark, she could see drawers and hanging ropes everywhere, but not a living soul.

She came closer to the stage exit. She saw the lights. She heard the noise of the audience.

She was on the scene. Everything gasped and stepped aside. They wanted to see her closer, but they could not as the play began.

The curtain rose...

.

Destler sneaked down the corridor near the lake. Each of them had their own lair, and nobody but they knew these secret passages. All the intruders drowned in the lake, if they wanted to get into the lair of the Phantom.

But there were options. Nobody ever could find Erik's Island. Everyone drowned in Gary's backwaters, but he did not reveal the secret. Near the Hugo's cave there must have been some mechanical monster that just went up from water, if the lake was touched by an intruder.

And the Destler's lake could hardly be called a lake. Rather, it was a small puddle in the farthest and most uncomfortable part of the Opera's dungeons. Hugo sometimes called him "The Phantom of the outskirts", for which Destler hated him even more.

It was his den, where he made his way, but not in order to spite his "brother", but in order to confirm the promise given to Christine. None of his letters with threats had the desired effect and, in addition, Destler did not manage to find out who this Beatrice Nizzardo was.

There was only one way to come out a winner - he was supposed to destroy the newfound prima right on the opening night.

He had already got to the den and stood in the middle of the room where Hugo kept his precious reagents. Intoxicating vapors hovered in the air. It made him feel dizzy, and smoky veil almost blinded his eyes.

In the den of this crazy demon everything was directly related to chemistry. It seemed that Hugo's life really started to make sense only when he became interested in this complex subject.

And under the tutelage of Eric he was able to delve into experiences and experiments. He seemed to understand chemistry better and better and identified it more with art than with science. But, of course, most of all he was interested in explosives and poisons.

That's why Destler knew that he would find all the necessary things in his "brother's" laboratory.

Having chosen one of the racks, Destler began to touch the bulbs on the shelves. He knocked one of them, and it broke with a loud clatter on the floor.

"What the hell is going on here?!" He heard from far away.

Spitting curses, Destler turned and looked at the rack again. He had no more time to think.

He saw the bottle with the liquid, which was usually used for heating singers' vocal chords. Seeing here such thing was unusual: Hugo would never put a cheap chemical near his precious ones.

And that meant... that meant that the liquid would cause the opposite effect.

Quickly grasping the bottle, he disappeared into the hallway before Hugo could catch him. But he still saw Destler's cloak waving from running.

.

In the hall there were heard loud applauses. The conductor waved his wand and the orchestra came to life. Music floated, excitement filled the hall, so loved by actors and singers. At this moment they finally dissolved in the roles and were ready to perform for their viewers.

Beatrice was fueled by the thoughts of her glory. Everyone was going to talk about her, the mysterious beauty who stroke the depths of people's hearts with her voice.

Finally, inspired, Beatrice waved a lace fan and began to sing. Her voice accompanied the music softly and gently, as if a sea siren sang the aria.

The audience, used to whisper in the Opera, glancing at each other through binoculars, - to cut a long story short, to do anything but watch the opera itself - focused on the singer.

By chance, always sour and tired audience began to laugh at the vulgar jokes. Everyone watched the action with interest.

A rebirth was happening. The absorption of one diva by another, a younger one, more talented.

Beatrice was not only an excellent singer, but also a good actress. She raises her eyebrows, ordering Serafimo "to kiss her in the absence of her husband," twisting the fan and pouring the finest laugh.

Next to her, Christine looked like a small, insecure kid. She moved around the stage almost blindly, performing basic movements and looking with frightened eyes framed by fluffy eyelashes.

Positively, the audience could see frozen tears in her eyes! The poor girl cried...

.

William Fairfax viewed the premiere of _Il Muto_ in his own box. Usually, he shared it with Gugot, but that day he refused to come to the Opera, saying he did not want to look at an unknown singer.

Fairfax guessed that the reason probably was in Marguerite Firmin, who was absent as well. William was not irritated by Robert's passion for that girl, he treated it condescendingly, but for the most part of their relationship he did not care at all.

He was more interested in the opera itself. He was a fan of this grand theatre, although did not put his feelings on display often. But the very fact that he invested in its development a lot of money spoke for him.

He first learned about Beatrice Nizzardo from the programme, lying on the seat of the chair in the box. He was glad that Carlotta was not involved at all.

In fact, all true music lovers understood that she had no talent, she lost its last vestiges a long time ago.

Heavy velvet curtain rose, and William got ready to enjoy the action. No thoughts of money investing tonight. Gugot liked to talk about it a lot. That day, indeed, was a unique evening.

The actors ran on the scene, among them was the one who played the Countess - Beatrice Nizzardo.

Just a few phrases in her performance was enough for him to recognize the woman, just as he did at the ball.

Caroline de Blois sang in front of him.

Destler silently watched Christine's suffering on the stage. The more he looked at her pale, exhausted face, the more he was willing to hurt that new diva. Something in her features seemed vaguely familiar, but her persona worried him the least. He wanted revenge for his treasure.

Long ago, he promised that the girl would not shed a single tear under his care. How dared Mademoiselle de Blois deceive him!

But there was nothing to worry about, this sweet canary would pay first. And then the mistress. She would have to bring Christine on stage, no matter if she wanted it or not.

The coat rustled along the corridor. Just in front of the exit, leading to the scene, there was a small table, where artists left a jug of water to drink during intermission.

The reigning diva also kept there a bottle of medicine, soothing vocal chords. Being near this table, Destler pulled out a securely stoppered flask, which he had withdrawn from Hugo's stocks.

A strange smell exuded from the liquid, similar to argan oil. Wincing a little, Destler gently tilted the flask above the bottle, but something suddenly grabbed him around his neck.

Destler was pushed away from the table, the bulb fell from his hand and rolled across the surface of the table, leaving wet toxic-green spots.

Destler gasped quietly. His throat was squeezed, so the sound was hoarse and helpless.

The voice of Hugo sounded just near his ear, hissing, a little catty. This voice often terrified the impressionable chorus girls.

"Maybe you do not know," Hugo whispered to his brother, "but Erik bought this potion in the East. Such a rare chemical things are only sold there and, moreover, are very expensive. He did not know the recipe until my very appearance, and this is the first successfully arranged pattern. And you wanted to mix this miracle with the cheapest solution of the plebeians, those stupid pharmacists?" The noose tightened. Destler vainly clung it with his fingers. "You should be torn by remorse, my friend!"

He pulled Destler to the wall in a sharp jerk. Both figures plunged into semi-darkness, and just in time: one of the scenes workers entered the hall. Seeing spots on the table, he cursed and pulled a stained handkerchief out of the jacket, wiped the tabletop. Destler could only squeak teeth.

Waiting until the worker hid in the depths of the corridor, Hugo laughed. His voice grind and jumped, giving the laughter fraction of madness. But he _was_ mad! All Erik's successors knew that!

"Let me go," Destler croaked.

He forcefully pushed Hugo by his elbow, but it did not bring any result. The noose scratched his neck, but Destler didn't feel that his brother wanted to strangle him to death. Rather, to present a memorable lesson. But you could never know for sure, when it came to Hugo!

"This liquid," continued the hissing voice, "could burn the vocal chords of this young diva like acid. She would remain voiceless, just as your Cristine."

"How dare you..."

"You're not in the right circumstances to argue," ironically remarked Hugo. "To spend such valuable materials on a second-class singers... You like vaunting a lot!"

He finally let him go. Destler almost fell on the floor, automatically clutching his throat, on which the mark of the rope remained. Hugo wanted to escape, but Destler jumped up and grabbed him by the elbow before striking...


	10. Chapter 9

Margo quickly descended down the flooding darkness of the underground corridors, holding a damp wall. During the conversation with Caroline she felt that patience was running out, but gritted her teeth and held back her feelings.

She was afraid to stay and say something that would release the anger and resentment bubbling inside. And therefore escaped, though had no idea what she would do in the dungeons. Her feet carried her through darkened passageways, narrow stone stairs, deprived of even the railing, down, down.

Her thoughts raced faster than her legs, and were so random that soon Margo got lost. She stopped in the middle of the fork, which had never seen before, and was really scared. Tossed from side to side, studying the walls in search of any index, the girl finally realized that was lost.

The strange signs, about which Earl spoke, could be read on the old stone, but they meant nothing to Marguerite. The circles of the size of a small peach, stretching along the walls, climbing up and down... What a nonsense! In the end, the girl clung to the wall and cried. Helpless in the human world, helpless there!

While crying she didn't hear someone approaching. Throwing up her head, Marguerite saw nothing but all-consuming darkness. She drew back, and then something slippery appeared on the way, and although she struggled to keep her balance, the soil was gone from under her feet.

Someone gripped her shoulders, not letting fall. Marguerite turned around with a mixture of horror and confusion, but her face immediately brightened:

"Earl, you saved me again..."

He did not look pleased. On the contrary, a severe crease laid between the frown, making him look older and darker. He was wearing a coat, a hat and a scarf, as if the Phantom was going to the surface. It was obvious that he faced Margo casually.

"What were you thinking?" He asked abruptly, removing his hands from her shoulders. "Are we agreed on the visit? I remember I said last time that I would be busy that day and I could not meet you. Oh, I could not think that you will lay your own way here. Do you have any idea how close you were to the numerous traps?"

Marguerite was silent. She could not just say that she did not know where to hide from the outside world. Noticing the deep sadness in her eyes, Earl got silent too. Looking around, as if for fear of something, he still said:

"Come on, Mademoiselle. I'll take you outside..."

"Please," Margo replied quietly, "let me see Ram. I'm a little... I just cannot go back now."

Earl looked at her, then nodded slowly and led her along a winding path. Marguerite noticed that he was walking more slowly than usual, because she was able to catch up with her companion.

"I was too careless," he chuckled softly, "to not foresee such a situation."

"If I knew how to navigate here... In fact you could teach me, and there would be no need to come to the secret passage every time. I could come myself."

Margo was surprised to find that after one or two turns, they were in familiar, well-lit dungeons, leading to Earl's home. Then he again turned to the girl and said:

"I will consider your request, mademoiselle. You should understand that to learn the system of these signs is not easy, at every fork there is its own..."

"Its own what?"

Earl hesitated, but still said:

"Melody. We'll talk about this later, I promise. If now you go strictly directly, you will not get lost. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Thank you," Marguerite said, raising her eyes. For a moment she looked directly at Earl, and then turned away and walked down the corridor. She felt that Earl followed her gaze to the end of the tunnel, to the door, opening the entrance to his abode. And even more surprising was that she thought suddenly that this gaze protected, enveloped with its tenderness. Certainly, it only seemed so.

.

"Ram," called Earl. "Ram, let's go. It's time."

Ram flustered, shut the lid of the organ and left, along with Earl, in another room. He had not even looked at the girl. If _Earl_ said it was time to go, the Angel was no near.

Marguerite thoughtfully leaned on the organ's lid. It never had a speck: Ram could not stand the dirt and mess. Sterile purity of his lair sometimes scared Marguerite, from childhood accustomed to clean up the mess herself in the absence of a large number of servants.

Earl left Ram's bedroom and quietly closed the door. Marguerite often felt uncomfortable in such moments: it was too reminiscent of a family scene when parents laid their son to sleep.

Earl approached her and offered her a hand to help up. His manners were always impeccable, he was always gallant and polite, but in his every gesture there was something apparent... something shadowy and frightening, about which Marguerite tried not to think.

"Are you leaving now?" he asked.

Marguerite hesitated.

"I would not like to go there now," she said, lowering her gaze. "There's now a premiere."

«Il Muto», Earl nodded. "With Caroline de Blois..." He stopped, catching her look of surprise. "Oh, sorry, Beatrice Nizzardo."

"How do you know?" Marguerite wondered, stepping over the threshold of the room with the organ, which was located just outside Earl's living room. "I did not tell you exactly."

"You never say much, actually," a skeptical voice whispered in her head. "So why are you so brave now?"

"While you were with Ram, I allowed myself to go upstairs to listen the vaunted diva," he explained. "I have a very good ear. I heard the voice of your cousin immediately. And tell her that her "Italian accent" is terrible. While she sings well. Not ideal, of course, but the best option from all available. And certainly better then Carlotta."

"But you wanted this role to be performed by Christine Rossini!" Margo was surprised. "You even wrote a letter to Caroline about it!"

"Me?" Earl's eyebrows went up. "I do not even... um... former case, Mademoiselle, forget about it. Tactical mistake."

Marguerite sighed with relief. Although she wanted to teach her obsessed by glory cousin a lesson, but as the mistress of the Opera preferred that it did not happen in front of t almost two thousand spectators.

"In this case, will you let me offer you a cup of tea?"

Marguerite smiled and nodded.

A true Englishman. For him, the best solution in any conversation becoming a dead-end was tea.

He helped her sit on the chair and began to cast over the stove. It was magic. Marguerite caught herself thinking that he earned the nickname "Fakir" not without a reason. His long fingers fluttered over the kettle and cups, not touching them. It was so... so beautiful that she could not shift her glance. Her thoughts sped off into the distance under the hiss of poaching water and soothing aroma of exquisite herbal drink...

"Marguerite?" He called to her, handing her a cup with a saucer. She took the tea, thanked him quietly. Their fingers touched for a moment, and Marguerite felt how warm his hand was, while her hands were always cold as ice, for which Caroline often called her a "cold-sensitive woman ".

Earl sat down opposite her and stared off into the distance behind her. Marguerite stealthily looked at him.

Ideal straight back, perfect suit. Even when Earl sat on a chair, not a single fold formed neither on his coat, nor on his starched white shirt.

His mask suited him, making him look even more elegant.

The fingers of his free hand tapped on the lacquered wooden arm of his chair, and Marguerite took a look at them. Aristocratic pale, long, well-groomed but at the same time masculine. On the ring finger there shone a gold ring with an oval black agate.

"He must have been very attractive in youth," an abstract thought flashed in Marguerite's head. "Before the injury. Even now... what am I doing? .."

And yet, beneath the white mask something terrible was hiding. Something so terrible that made Earl live underground. Just thinking about it froze the blood in her veins. What happened to him?..

She suddenly wanted to get outside, even to the thunder of music and singing, to the crowd, to the cool of the night, and to the one who increasingly occupied her thoughts.

.

Constant bows finally exhausted Caroline. Having hardly entered the dressing room, she fell on a chair.

She had enough strength only to lift the chin and look triumphantly at her reflection in the mirror - tired, but militant. Her cheeks were burning, mischievous lights were splashing in the eyes. She still felt the elation after the performance, but that heat and the moment of her triumph faded quickly in the memory. Looking back, she remembered that sometimes sounded not so sure as she would like to, the thought of this spoiled her mood. She told herself that she would perform much better next time.

Caroline sighed, and reached for a towel to remove the makeup from the face, but her hand froze and trembled.

There was not only her reflection in the mirror. Behind her a dark silhouette stood. In gothic novels that she read before going to sleep, while still thirteen-year-old girl, ghosts and demons, possessed by madness and anger, looked the same. She felt a shiver on her fingertips.

But, of course, in the Grand Opera there were usual charlatans, pretending to be disembodied spirits. Only because of that reason Caroline kept her fear and firmly looked in the mirror.

"You again? What do you need?" She asked. "Came to congratulate me on my success?"

"Certainly," said the dark figure in the mirror. "You have caused a real scandal, not only in press, but also in the Opera. For that you can only be praised."

Caroline snorted and crossed her arms. She felt the stranger's gaze gliding over her bare skin, and she did not like it.

"What kind of scandal do you mean?" Caroline's eyes narrowed.

"You broke Christine's heart and also her secret admirer's," he said. "And you were very close to deadly danger because of that. So you owe me existence. But I not only saved you today," the figure reached for her hand. "I want to make you an offer."

"I hope not to get married," dryly replied Caroline. "I must have missed something. I have eyes and ears, I would certainly have noticed the deadly dangers that threatened me even a moment."

As if in anticipation of her words, the Phantom chuckled. Caroline could not understand whether it was pleasant laughter. Whether it pleased her ears, or worried her...

"You are a very intelligent little Mademoiselle, and very sharp-tongued," said the Phantom. "But my suggestion is of an entirely different nature. I assure you that you will like it."

"The day is full of surprises," Caroline muttered. "It's just a holiday of some kind. But my cousin spends enough time in the dungeons. I do not want to do the same. I simply do not have time for this nonsense, since I decided to become a diva."

"My suggestion is to make you not only a diva," said Hugo. "I'm ready to exalt you. And glory and money will come to you."

Despite the vow not to show emotions, Caroline opened her mouth in amazement and blinked. Bending down to the mirror, she impaled the mysterious stranger with her eyes.

"So tell me, until no one is here!" She whispered, looking furtively at the door. And indeed, there was a knock.

Caroline shivered.

"No need to worry," kindly replied the voice. "We will talk in a different place."

The mirror suddenly clicked and slid aside. The cloaked figure rose from the black stripe of a secret passage. Caroline blinked and looked back at the door. She could not decide what to do, but the Phantom suddenly grabbed her arm. Long fingers wrapped around her wrist, and Caroline squeaked quietly, before falling into the passage.

The guest at the door remained without any answer.


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER X**

 _My angel, my beautiful Marguerite..._

 _You surely know that one of your friends has the feelings for you which he cannot overcome. This unfortunate one appeals to you in a frenzy, begging at your feet: let me spend one evening with you! Spend it with me in the Tuileries Gardens, in this magical place where our witness is only the moonlight and the stars, where we will whisper words of love to each other and lull each other in a cradle of tenderness..._

 _And now, Mademoiselle Firmin, let me drop these completely ridiculous sentiment and eloquence, so alien to me. Perhaps you expect such a treatment from me, but I have to disappoint you and immediately ask your forgiveness for that: with me there will be no blind romance and angelic tenderness, but rather ordinary courtship, nice for both of us conversations with, however, no obligation._

 _You, a chaste prude, must have thought it is disgusting - perhaps, but that is all that my soul is capable of. I am not able to love and to feel affection for someone. I do not want to lie to you and try to feed your charming head with hope, I admit at once - even an angel like you, Marguerite, is unlikely to touch it, my prim little soul._

 _Although I must confess to you, when I look in your eyes, it's like a warm hand touches my icy heart._

 _Just think, I'm writing, as a poet, surprisingly, is not it? I am to blame my desire to see you, talk to you, dance with you, as it was then, at the masquerade. Do you remember?_

 _Oh, I'd like to forget it and not be humiliated in front of you. But now I want to offer only an innocent meeting in the Tuileries Gardens, the outcome of which will depend on you. Maybe you do not agree to my meager conditions, but, please, tell me about it in person, in the garden, and I will let you go._

 _Your absence I will apprehend as a personal insult._

 _Yours faithfully (someone else would write here, "love", but I do not)_

A lot of mysterious, the most important and incredible events usually take place under the cover of night.

This is not surprising: the night is as if created for the adventure, for secret meetings and activities, for the most secret desires, for fear that envelops every sensitive soul...

But the night is just a few hours of darkness, which dissolves under the early rays of the caring sun. Then the morning comes. What does it bring?

Disappointment, as the worst news usually comes in the morning. Separation. How often the two loving souls cannot find the strength to leave each other in the morning. For a day, for months, ever.

Hope. Maybe, this day will be better than the previous one, and will bring long-awaited happiness..?

The morning comes, bringing light and starting its game with the fates of people living under its laws.

The directors' office appeared to Simon a cursed place. Yesterday, having spent hours here, turned over all Marguerite's books and learned all the latest news from the newspapers, he did not meet his cousin and had to go home all alone.

Today, early in the morning, he walked into the damn office, hoping to find Caroline in it. But something prompted him, that he would have no chance to talk to his sister.

In fact, when he saw only Marguerite in the office, Simon was not surprised. Absolutely. He even managed to show his duty smile on his face so that Margo could never see his unspoken questions: "How are you? Why are you avoiding me? What's going on in your life?"

Marguerite smiled politely at him and went back to work. She was, as usual, the epitome of diligence and hard work, and came to work before the last rays of the sun.

"My dear cousin," Simon singled the final word, "I do not want to disturb you, but where can I find Caroline?"

His voice sounded cold! Marguerite tensed her shoulders. Perhaps he overdid it... But the reason for Margo's worries, who did not pay attention to Simon's tone, was of a different nature.

"I have not seen her since last night, Simon." She said worriedly. "I was not at the premiere, I was absent..." She added gently.

"I waited for Caroline at your office for two hours after the play ended, and then went home and waited for her until the morning in the living room. She never appeared. Has she told you anything about her plans? Perhaps, some personal things about which she can tell only you..."

"No, Simon, nothing like that. She had to go home immediately after the performance, as we have a lot of cases of urgency." Marguerite frowned. "Wait a minute..."

A knock on the door interrupted Marguerite's speech. Without asking Margo's permission, Simon, still standing in the doorway, opened the door to a lackey in an expensive suit.

"Mademoiselle Firmin?" Marguerite got up from her seat. "A letter from..." the lackey looked at Simon and stopped.

It seemed that Marguerite knew who was the author of the letter better than Simon, because she quickly took the envelope from the lackey and, trying to hide her excitement, opened it.

"Perhaps it has something to do with Caroline?" The young man thought, looking at the young woman's face.

Marguerite finished reading and, without losing a second, rushed to her desk, carefully put the letter in a drawer, wrote a couple of lines on the first available piece of paper in response and hurriedly handed them the lackey without saying a word.

"Marguerite, what is written there?" Simon timidly spoke up when the lackey disappeared behind the door.

She turned in surprise, as if forgot about the existence of the young man. There was a wide smile on her face, her eyes shined and her cheeks glowed with fire.

"What? Oh, nothing. Nothing important, in fact, just some working moments. Simon, I have to go. Please, wait here for Caroline and tell her..." she laughed nervously and waved her hand. "No, do not tell anything, I'll tell her myself."

Simon felt horrible devastation and doom, sat on the chair on which Marguerite was a couple of minutes ago. He rested his chin thoughtfully on his fist and wanted to think about what was happening, when suddenly his eyes fell on the drawer.

On the drawer, in which Marguerite hid the letter. The letter, which made her so excited for a moment. Simon had only to blink as the letter itself appeared in his hands.

Honestly, he did not remember how he got it! The young man hesitated. It was Margo's letter, he had no right to read it, had he? _"It can tell me, where I can find Caroline."_ Abandoning the last vestiges of logic and forgetting about Marguerite's words, thought Simon.

He looked through the lines written by an unknown hand, and with every word his face became paler.

"R. Gugot! Damn you!" Simon swore and was surprised at his own words. Caroline often mocked at his softness, and he...

 _"What about me? While he does something, I sit idly by, waiting for Marguerite to feel for me the same I feel for her... Moron."_

Simon thought and rose from the chair, started pacing the floor. He hated self-flagellation. He considered it a waste of time, the fate of weak people who cannot pull themselves together and start acting.

But now he did just the same: he remembered every breath in the presence of Marguerite, every word, every look, comparing it with the actions of Robert and _did not understand_ how he dared to hope for Margo's sympathy!

An awkward, shy, cowardly wimp he was. He was not a hero, who Mademoiselle Firmin wanted to see next to her. He had no mystery in him, which were so many in Robert.

 _"Even an angel like you, Marguerite, is unlikely to touch it, my prim little soul..."_ Said Gugot's voice in Simon's head. How did he manage to make Marguerite so excited by phrases like that?!

Simon really wanted to bang his fist on the table, to defeat the room, to find Robert and challenge him to a duel, or catch up with Marguerite and tell her... but what? Simon sighed bitterly and buried his face in his hands.

 **.**

When Caroline woke up the usual muted light, making its way through the dense tulle in Marguerite's room, did not hit her eyes. In that room there was not cousin's bed, where she was sleeping, breathing softly. There was no old furniture and threadbare wallpaper, by which she was already so bored during her stay in Paris.

It would be quite dark if not for candles, that seemed to be on every surface. The air was filled with the faint smell of smoke, making dizzy and forcing eyes to close.

Caroline frowned. Good thing there - no matter where that "there" was, – was so dark, because she had a terrible headache! As if she had been listening to the trills of Carlotta for three hours in a row. What happened yesterday?

Caroline tried to put two and two together as much as possible. To begin with, she was in her home dress – the dress which she sometimes put on at the Opera.

The Opera! She was the headmistress of the Opera!

This effort caused her another headache.

Caroline was lying on a giant bed with black (as far as she could tell in the dark), silk bedsheets, in which her feet sank. There were a lot of cushions, richly decorated with silk embroidery, all over that truly giant bed.

Was she given some sleeping pills and secretly taken to the East?

No, that place would not be so cold.

Moreover, there would be was a velvet canopy above the bed. And the Gothic interior, which could be guessed in the fade candlelight - lancet mirror frames, a wrought table - did not fit into the atmosphere of sultans.

Caroline raised her hand, which immediately seemed to be full of lead, forcing the girl to wince. On the wrist a pink heavy crystal bracelet flashed, leaving stone-shaped prints on the hand after sleep.

«Il Muto»! She played in the premiere yesterday, posing as an Italian diva, Beatrice Nizzardo. Yes, exactly, she had been pretending that singer for a couple of months, and yesterday Signora Nizzardo finally showed herself to Paris audience.

She received a standing ovation, that she remembered, too... She saw the richest people in Paris, who shouted "Bravo!" William Fairfax closely studied her out of his loge, but could hardly recognize, her disguise was perfect...

And after the premiere she was in her dressing room when... when the Phantom of the Opera came to her. He came himself, she did not call him. One step closer to victory!

And then... then a lot of things happened. But where was the Phantom now? They shared the views yesterday... and now he _was gone at dawn_?

Suddenly, in the dark, something stirred. Caroline turned her head to see _him_ , but then again lost consciousness.

 **.**

 _"_ _Where are you taking me?" Caroline asked in confusion. "It's too dark! Just do not think that I'll go into the ugly catacombs again..."_

 _The man, in turn, gave her no answer, and only stubbornly dragged her forward. It seemed that the theatrical tirade of Mademoiselle de Blois amused him._

 _Oh, if only Caroline knew, what was going on in his head! She kept thinking that this man must have been a little out of his mind, as he did not answer any of her questions._

 _However, Caroline noted in her companion some gallantry: as soon as she stumbled or slipped his hand supported her._

 _"_ _You should set light at these stairs," Caroline complained. "I do not like that I cannot see anything. And you can break a leg, you know!"_

 _She knew exactly how dangerous were these dungeons. She still remembered how they wandered, almost blind, leaning against the wall of the narrow corridor._

 _Caroline thought that she would never return there, even for a thousand - no! - two thousand francs!_

 _However, Caroline quickly found an excuse. The stranger had alien, but very attractive aura, and she just could not resist._

 _Time passed so slowly that Caroline had finally lost it. They walked for a long time, and the corridor dodged sometimes. Its end still could not be seen!_

 _When Caroline thought that she was tired, and that the Phantom was simply trying to kill her with that grueling walk, they stopped. The headmistress's gentle hearing was touched by a faint splash of water._

 _A few more steps - and the stairs ended, and in front of Caroline's eyes flashed the surface of a lake. They stood at the edge of an underground lake, and a little accustomed to the darkness Caroline could observe how a tied boat was rhythmically swaying on the waves._

 _"_ _What's it for?" The young mademoiselle asked. "Do not tell me that this is not the end of our way."_

 _The Phantom left Caroline for a few moments. She did not move while he prepared the boat. This strange place charmed her, like young children are always charmed by first snow or a rose among wasteland._

 _Yes, indeed, this lake could be called fantastic. Like any other girl, who grew up in Marseille, Caroline loved water and immediately fell under its special power. She believed in mermaids and mermen, and felt some thrill._

 _The Phantom offered her his hand. In the darkness Caroline recognized the shapes of his face, unnaturally white, with arched eyebrows and cheekbones' sharp line..._

 _"God, what a fool you are!" She broke off suddenly. "He's wearing a mask!"_

 _Caroline obediently sat in the boat. A nasty chill ran over her back. Seeing her agitation, the Phantom grinned. Since the beginning of this magical journey, he did not say a word, so Caroline even shivered._

 _"_ _Do not be afraid," he said. "I do not want you to drown. But forced to warn you if you keep bothering me, there is someone else, ready to drag you to the bottom."_

 _"_ _Indeed?" Caroline echoed, feeling like her palms became cold at once._

 _But the companion paused again. In confirmation of his words under the arches of the cave came a shrill, high-pitched sound that resembled both a woman crying and a creaking badly oiled door._

 _Caroline cried out and clutched her head. She was still young and, in addition, was too talented to die in some terrible dungeon!.._

 _The Phantom looked at her with a truly devilish grin, as if admiring her fear, feeding with her terror._

 _"_ _Do not worry," the man chuckled. "This is just a cunning mechanism established by my patron. We call it the "Siren"."_

 _"And, of course, it's harmless!" Carolyn assured herself. Her eyes revolved anxiously._

 _The boat soon approached the other shore. Caroline could not remember when she was so happy to return to the land last time! Continuing to follow her mysterious companion, Caroline had a thought to ask him why the Phantoms lurk beneath the Opera House._

 _And even if it was so, why under their Opera, and not under any other? In her opinion, it would be perfect for them to live in the famous catacombs of Paris or the Louvre, if the Phantoms liked art so much!_

 _But she said nothing, pressed down by the silence of her companion. They finally came to a strange room, lit by lamps. Caroline's eyes hurt because of light, but then she could clearly see the man who she spoke with through the mirror._

 _But even then she was struck by disappointment - the mask securely hid half of the man's face. The second half he seemed to specially keep in the shade. In the end, she could not run around him, trying to see!_

 _The silence lasted too long. But then the Phantom awoke. Looking at Caroline as if seeing her for the first time, he asked whether she wished to look at his property. Politeness had not yet definitively left Caroline, so she agreed, without any desire to look at the underground room._

 _"_ _You must promise not to touch my experiments," the Phantom noticed seriously, but somehow tantalizingly. "If you do this, I'll kill you. And it will the end of all our plans!"_

 _"_ _I am absolutely not interested," Caroline interrupted, "in your experiments."_

 _"_ _But you will be interested!" said the Phantom with a thunderous voice, and grabbed Caroline by both hands. His eyes lit up with obsession. "Oh, we know the women's curiosity! We have heard so much about it that it is beyond words!"_

 _And then he stepped away from Caroline, squinting suspiciously. His palm clenched in a fist, and his smile turned into a grin. As if caught in the power of dark thoughts, the Phantom froze and fell silent._

 _His expression changed every moment. Caroline had time to see the man angry, tired, sad and ready to laugh. Then his face softened._

 _"_ _You are curious, very curious!" It was a statement, and Caroline did not know how to react to it._

 _She thought that the Phantom was furious, and it was better not to irritate him more._

 _"_ _I am!" She said with a slight hesitation. Fear brought her to a sudden pliancy._

 _"_ _I'll show you through," the Phantom responded happily. "Now we can look at what I call my home. Come on. And please, do not touch anything..."_

 **.**

When Caroline woke up again, there were no more blackouts in her memory. Her headache disappeared, as well as the candles and absolute darkness. She was in one of the dressing rooms of the Opera, not in her own, but in one of ordinary ones with a small barred window near the ceiling, in which she could see the patch of milky white sky.

 _"The Phantom is sloppy,"_ Caroline thought. _"Or is it just his indignity? What impudence!"_

She sat on the couch and looked at herself. The dress was hopelessly wrinkled, her hair matted. Skin itching due to not completely washed off makeup. Caroline would love to be as soon as possible in a warm Firmin's house.

But for that she still had to pass the Opera corridors some incredible way without bumping into anyone of the troupe or stagehands.

This dressing room was unoccupied, so it was no sense trying to find at least some toiletries. The only thing there was, perhaps, except for the broken couch - a huge mirror, through which she probably got here.

Caroline pushed the glass, then clung to him, but either she did something wrong, or it opened only from the inside.

She could only open the door of the room and timidly look deep into the dark corridor. She saw no one there and quickly went ahead. She did not even know what part of the Opera it was, so just hoped to find a more or less familiar place.

Finally she realized that she was going to her wonderful dressing room, where she had for everything she needed, and in particular – a street dress and a comb! She quickened her pace and did not see a man coming to her and crashed into him.

"Watch where you're going!" She snapped, and was about to pass by, but realized that the man in front of her was William Fairfax.

"Mademoiselle de Blois?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is bumping into me your habit? And rudeness."

"Monsieur Fairfax," Caroline nodded, trying to somehow smooth her disheveled hair. "I would have a chat with you, but now I'm in a hurry. Please, let me pass..."

She passed by, but he grabbed her wrist.

"The director's office is the other way," he recalled.

"I'm not going there," Caroline said calmly and tried to leave.

"What happened yesterday?" He asked. She stopped stone-still.

"What exactly do you mean?" Caroline asked absolutely calm.

"I know that you are Beatrice Nizzardo." He came up to her again. "I easily recognized you, just as it was then, at the masquerade. Did you think I would not?"

Caroline bit her lip. In fact, she completely forgot about that incident at the ball. It was so long ago!

"I came to your dressing room after the premiere," he continued. "I knocked at the door, did you hear? It was locked, and when it suddenly opened, I saw an open passage behind the mirror. Unfortunately, it closed instantly... so where were you?"

"It's none of your business," Caroline hissed.

 **.**

More than an hour passed after Marguerite, bewinged by Robert's letter, left the Opera. And Caroline didn't return.

Simon was tired of waiting, and, upset and hopeless, he hazed about the strange Opera garden. The garden was unhomely, lifeless, even a bit scaring, fully consistent with the reputation of the Opera.

Simon almost did not pay attention to it. To him, on the contrary, it seemed that this was the most beautiful place in the whole Opera, because there were no sponsors or directors, and people didn't come here. It was just what Simon needed most - privacy.

He sat down on a bench in a deserted corner of the garden, and shivered slightly from the cool breeze. Outside the Opera it was warm enough, but here even the warm wind became icy cold.

Simon did not want to "slobber", as Caroline would say - it was not like him. He was too serious for that, in fact - too well brought up. However, being alone, he began to mope. The mood, that he was in in the directors' office, came back again.

Suddenly the young man heard footsteps. Simon, trying to stay unnoticed, looked out from his corner. With inexplicable joy he saw Meg Giry, hurrying somewhere. Obviously, she was late for some important rehearsal, but Simon felt the urgent need to stop her, to bring in his shelter and talk to her, not to think about his vile mood.

He wanted to call Meg, but standing up from the bench and hurrying to the girl, he stumbled because of his clumsiness. Cursing loudly, like a Marseille sailor, he hit a near standing tree with his forehead.

Meg, hearing a noise from the side of the intricately cut chestnut trees, cautiously went to see what happened. She was terribly late for a descant, but curiosity prevailed. She crept on her tiptoes to the place from where the noise came, and laughed softly, noticing angry Simon, rubbing his forehead.

"Good morning, Monsieur Leroux." Meg approached the young man and made something similar to a curtsey.

"Disgusting, Meg, disgusting morning." Simon complained, but he could not help smiling, looking at the funny chorus girl's movement. Meg sat down on the bench, the young man sat down beside her.

"Why? According to my observations, you had a pleasant meeting with a chestnut tree. I'm ashamed that I disturbed you."

Simon laughed and looked at Meg warmly. She was charming: at first glance, an adult woman, but not so serious and formed personality, like Caroline.

She allowed herself to clown with Simon, but then embarrassed and withdrew into herself. Simon knew her only a couple of moments, but felt sympathy for her, something like brotherly tenderness that he felt for his cousin.

"To tell the truth, I myself wanted to talk to you. But you were hurrying somewhere..."

"Not at all. I'm already late for the descant." Meg sobered. "Monsieur Leroux, what did you want to talk about?"

"Call me Simon, please. Why are you so afraid of my desire to talk to you?"

"Simon ... you are the headmistress's cousin… How can I... How can I not be surprised that you want to communicate with me? With me, a poor chorus girl, who will always be far from you because of my social status." Meg's lips twitched into a smile. But Simon, on the other hand, frowned.

"Meg, I live here not so long. I have not yet had time to settle down with Paris, this Opera... I am used to friends by my side, someone who I can trust and who can trust me. Here I have many worries, but no one to tell about it.

"What about your cousin?.." Meg stammered.

"Oh, Caroline is a beautiful sister, but she has too much trouble. It is a great responsibility to manage the Opera... Meg, I just want you to understand that my desire is based on the fatigue of being alone, on my need to have a friend. On inexplicable trust that I have for you. Do not be afraid of me. I think you need a friend, just as I do."

Meg listened to his words and could not calm the beating of her heart, threatening to jump out of her chest. She could not believe it. She looked into Simon's eyes and... No. It was so stupid!..

"Simon... Can I believe that you say it not to laugh at me?.." The young man nodded. "Simon! You are my first friend in the walls of the Opera! In all my life! Oh, how nice!" She laughed and kissed Simon on his forehead, in the place which he hit a few minutes ago.

Simon smiled when Meg did it, and his smile became even wider when he noticed that Meg froze in confusion. He took her hand and whispered conspiratorially:

"Do not tell the chestnut tree about it. It will not forgive my betrayal."

Meg laughed, and the newly made friends continued talking about everything, not noticing (and not being able to notice) that they were overheard by a figure in a dark cloak.

 **.**

Simon sat in the garden for a long time and then smiled at something, the unknown, then became sad. He did not notice Caroline who came up to him and stood in front of him with a very angry face. She coughed.

"Oh," Simon awoke from his thoughts and jumped. "Where have you been, cousin?"

"I'll tell you later. Maybe. Let's go to the Firmin's. Why have you come here? Silly place. I would never look for you here. A chorus girl told me."

"Who?"

"How do I know? I do not remember their names, too much honor. Come on, come on, I'm tired of hanging around here."

 **.**

 _Staying in the middle of the lab submerged in darkness, the Phantom spread his hands and laughed. Caroline shuddered. She was already tired of these weird flashes of laughter and aggression, but she tried to keep a tight expression. So Caroline looked around the room quietly._

 _Along the stone walls there were shelves and tables, bursting on the number of all kinds of bottles and beakers. Caroline knew nothing about them, but was attracted by the shelf with colored liquids. Red, blue, green, acid yellow - like fragile glass itself was a rainbow._

 _"_ _Here I conduct my experiments," said the Phantom. "Dangerous poisons, explosive mixtures... But you, of course, cannot fully realize the value of all my creations with your pathetic mind."_

 _If only Caroline's looks could kill. How dared this crazy man call her stupid! But, apparently, he just told all that came into his head. Caroline thought that this strange man in a mask was similar to loony scientists from Gothic books, which all Paris read. She would not be surprised if his lair was covered with human bones._

 _The Phantom, meanwhile, continued:_

 _"_ _I can say that my poisons are extremely popular. I have customers all over the globe." He suddenly looked at Caroline with suspicion. "Of course you know that the earth is round, don't you?" And then his attention moved to something else. "Look there!"_

 _The Phantom unceremoniously dragged Caroline past the tables with artful constructions. Entrapped in her skirts she did not keep up with the man. While he made three steps, she made only one._

 _Having taken Caroline to his table, he threw off several striated parchments and crumpled up and thrown out a couple of them before he got to the things he needed. The Phantom showed Caroline several sheets. Caroline understood only the fact that the Phantom had written some formula on them._

 _Raising her eyebrows, she blurted out:_

 _"_ _Is that black magic, sir?"_

 _He laughed in response. His laughter crackled and rang under the ceiling, scaring Caroline._

 _"_ _You confuse chemistry with alchemy," he explained. "But there is some truth. Here I really create magic, but very precise and systematic. This is called the magic of science!"_

 _He suddenly turned and looked straight at her, but still bent so that only a couple of inches remained between their faces._

 _Caroline blushed. She did not let anyone of her even most loyal fans come that close. She felt that this close people are only in one case - when they are ready to kiss._

 _And she wasn't going to kiss with this crazy warlock from the dungeons of the Opera! The idea of this was unacceptable!_

 _"_ _Your voice," the Phantom said hoarsely. "That's what is much closer to magic. You are like the wicked witch from the fairy tale. You took the voice of the daughter of the sea depths."_

 _"_ _Why do you think that I am a witch?" Caroline was taken aback by such boldness and, a little emboldened, stuck out her chin. "Do not I look more like a sea princess?"_

 _The Phantom chuckled merrily. His eyes narrowed slowly._

 _"_ _Oh no," he shook his head several times as if to confirm his words. "There is something dark in you. That makes us similar. You see, that's why I saved you a few hours ago. But we will not talk about business in the midst of my lab. I'll find a place more pleasant," he again offered her his elbow. "Come on. Let's have some perfect pomegranate wine and a conversation worthy your close attention."_

 _Caroline gently shrugged and took the Phantom's arm. Curiosity overcame the remnants of fear, and with it her unusual shyness disappeared._

 ** _._**

Caroline rubbed her eyelids tiredly. Her head rang unpleasantly, and she suspected that there was only one explanation – she drank too much. Who knew that the wine would hit the head so hard! The sweet taste was still felt on the tongue.

Caroline slowly licked her lips. She wanted to drink, but the pitcher, standing on her desk and usually filled with water, was empty. Did she ever feel worse?..

Only after the masquerade, but even that case seemed quite bearable. That day she knew that she was ready to kill any living creature, that would be the first to appear in front of her. In a bad mood, Caroline was no worse than the chemicals, which were so praised by the man in a mask.

By the way, about him. The mysterious man, one of those Phantoms. What did he tell her yesterday? She could not remember at once.

She sighed and lowered her head. Thoughts merged into one giant ball and did not want to unravel. At such moments, Margo always helped her. Oh, this girl always remembered everything, even the smallest detail. When Caroline forgot about the plans for the coming day, her cousin...

Caroline gasped. Absolutely. It was her, her cute cousin Marguerite, who, however, did not seem so cute anymore. As if the Phantom opened her eyes. Caroline did not notice that Marguerite was trying to manage the Opera alone (what self-confidence!).

The more Caroline thought about it, the darker grew her thoughts. And yet she thought that the Phantom's words were truthful. He did not just slandered her cousin - no! - he spoke quietly and smoothly, reminding Caroline how ambitious she was and how Marguerite lacked this feature.

In fact, representing the interests of the Directors, Margo always behaved stumblingly. She with her shyness was not an entrepreneur for sure? And she, Caroline, could talk sponsors round, conquer all them with her elegant smile, a slight wave of her eyelashes...

 _The fog in her head began to clear. She heard the Phantom's voice clearly..._

 **.**

The Phantom gallantly offered her hand and led her into the living room, decorated in Gothic style. In the light of gas lamps Caroline could see a wrought-iron table with music sheets on it, written in red ink. In such circumstances, she would not have been surprised if he had told her that it was blood. Although, most likely, it was just ink. Yes, it was better to think that this was ink.

She sat down in one of the chairs, he went to the closet. In his every movement there was seen a kind of cat's grace, which perfectly combined with his mysterious aura. He was a true piece of art.

He opened the sideboard and took out a decanter, looking more like a spherical flask. The burgundy liquid was splashing inside, similar to blood. Three colors dominated in that dark kingdom: red, black and white.

Only the mask of the Phantom and his shirt-front were white, but these two parts attracted the most attention.

After the decanter he took two crystal glasses.

That man even managed to pour the wine so that Caroline held her breath.

He sat down in a chair, placing his hands, one of which was holding a glass of wine, on the armpads and crossed his legs. He spoke:

"Well, shall we introduce ourselves for a start?"

"Maybe," Caroline said, picking up her glass and feeling the pleasant coolness.

"I am the Phantom of the Opera."

"This is not enough. I know that there are a lot of you here."

He chuckled.

"My name is Hugo."

Caroline raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, are you an American? They are all as one - crazy!"

"Oh, mademoiselle," he had a smile past his ears, "are the scope of public opinion really for such prominent figures as we are? I'm not crazy, but sometimes I get bored. I think you also do. More out of boredom than by the noble desire to save the Opera or the desire to become famous you have taken on this role of Beatrice Nizzardo."

Caroline did not know what to answer. She suddenly realized that this man was like her reflection in the mirror.

He turned his head, his eyes staring off into space, past the young lady.

"But you will soon be bored again," he said slowly. "If you want the glory, then Beatrice Nizzardo will get it, not you. It is impossible for you, the owner of the Opera. People will gossip."

Caroline shivered. She said these words on the first day of her stay in the Opera as the headmistress when, as usual, complained aloud that she could not shine on the stage. Did he know her every word? Or, maybe, even every secret thought?

"I suggest you moving forward in a more interesting direction." He rose from his chair, and, having passed the table, stood behind Caroline, drinking wine.

"In what direction?" She asked.

" _I suggest you becoming a true Queen of the Opera._ "

He said it quietly and smoothly, making each word run through Caroline's spine and bring the alarm into her soul.

"It sounds vulgar," she said after a moment of silence.

"That's because you do not understand the meaning of my words," impatiently rolling his eyes, he explained. "I mean full ownership."

" _Full ownership?_ " Caroline repeated breathlessly.

"Oh, I see that you're interested." His voice savored of a smile. "Yes, full ownership. You will own the Opera on the ground, and I - underneath. I will help you to eliminate your opponents, you will help me to destroy the Phantoms of the Opera, leaving me the only and full owner here."

"How many of them are here?"

"Five besides me."

Caroline paused, aware of this fact. Six creepy monsters lived under her theater! But one of them offered to significantly reduce their number...

"Do you mean murder?"

"I said «to destroy the Phantoms of the Opera.» This does not necessarily means killing people."

"But it may mean?"

"It may."

Both kept silent. Caroline thought of his words, and he again went to the sideboard to hide the decanter of wine.

"And what about Marguerite?" Caroline asked suddenly.

"We will get rid of her."

"She is my cousin!"

There was an eerie sound. Hugo laughed.

"Have you ever noticed how cleverly she manages the Opera? I see it more than you. I am everywhere. And I heard..." He again turned to Caroline, coming close to her and leaning. "I heard her talking to Robert Gugot on how wonderful they will manage the Opera together, becoming a married couple," he whispered in her ear.

Caroline gasped.

"So?" he said in metallic tone.

"I must think."


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER XI**

The Tuileries Garden, located behind the Louvre, was the ideal place for lovers. Its secluded alleys, strewn with gravel, were perfect for long leisurely walks. Its ancient giant trees called to hide under their crowns, promising to conceal the hidden secrets.

But now it was winter. An average Paris February, snowless, but chilly. Cold wind was blowing, and at night you could freeze to death.

But these thoughts did not tortured Marguerite when she, as soon as the clock on the nearest tower struck ten, walked along the path of the park. Her thoughts were far from the Tuileries. Mixed feelings tormented her: the man to whom she was indifferent for a long time appointed a date. But what a date! He wrote her about it as if he already owned her. If Caroline was in her place, she would have considered it an insult, but Marguerite was too lenient to people. She decided to go to this meeting, but only for a single reason: to explain to Gugot that his conditions were unacceptable.

This decision was hard for her. After all, he offered her so much, and she was going to refuse. And for what? In the name of ghostly concepts of honor and dignity?

However, she drove away such sinful thoughts. It was difficult to find a girl purer than Marguerite in all the high society of Paris, despite the gossip. And she could not even imagine that Gugot might have been just a selfish sensualist, though it could explain why he assigned the first meeting under the cover of night.

She was seventeen years old, and she wanted to love with all her huge heart.

The Tuileries had a special indoor garden for lovers of winter greenery, small space, about twenty paces alley. Inside it was much warmer. And there, even in February, roses bloomed.

Marguerite's white hands were almost translucent, and she could not get warm, unceasingly trembling. Or was it not because of the cold?

She went deep into the front garden, looking at the roses. There were tea roses, and small white roses, and red giant roses. Their delicate petals resembled the skin of Marguerite, but she did not think about it. She thought only of thorns that were ready to pierce her.

Suddenly she felt someone's hot breath on her neck. Startled, she turned around and saw him.

Rober was dressed warmly and richly. His coat of angora wool dyed in black was trimmed inside with expensive fur, his scarf was made of the finest cashmere, while Marguerite was dressed in rough wool cloak, lined with cotton. Her main beauty - beautiful golden hair - was now hidden under the bonnet, and she seemed insignificant, without kith or kin comparing to him.

"So you are here, mademoiselle," he said without a smile, but with a strange fire in his eyes. It was the fire of passion, which Marguerite hadn't yet met. Except, perhaps, that episode the next day after the ball at the Opera...

"Yes," was the only answer.

Something like a half-smile flashed on his face. Robert's gaze was so irritant that Marguerite looked away. Her purity could not hold the line against his ill-concealed lust.

"Does this means that you agree with my terms?" He asked coldly, as if signing a contract about investing. His steel confidence forced Marguerite to lose the last vestiges of courage.

"N-no," she said with hesitation. "I came because you threatened to perceive my absence as a personal insult."

"My dear, in the current situation between us I'll perceive as a personal insult your decline to any point in my letter."

"Then..." Marguerite began to step away from him, his breathing was too hot, "then I tear the sponsorship contract with you. You are neither a sponsor nor a guest in the Opera anymore. If you want to see the show, you'll go to the box office and buy a ticket. But nothing more. Do you hear me? Nothing!"

He covered the distance between them in one step and grabbed her by the shoulders. She wanted to scream, but could not - her voice was gone. And there was no one to come to the rescue here in the glass-walled front garden, absorbing any sound in the night...

"I can give you _everything_ you want," he said. "You will bathe in luxury and adoration, you'll get tired of the weight of the jewelry, which I will give you, your skin will not be touched by anything rougher than silk and muslin. You will have hundreds of servants, carriages, huge rooms. How can you refuse all this?"

" I can," she said, feeling a surge of strength. It was much easier, because he did not say a word to her about love, he was just trying to buy her, but this could not break the wall of her inaccessibility. "I do not want to be... your... kept woman!"

Devil's fire disappeared from Robert's eyes, he loosened his grip, and Marguerite thought he was going to let her go, when he again leaned forward and kissed her.

She immediately lost control of herself, drowned in the kiss. What she waited for, what she wanted for so long, what she dreamed of in the sweetest dreams, finally happened. She forgot what he told her a minute ago. It was now quite unimportant. He kissed her passionately, his lips were insatiable, and his hands around her slim waist under the cloak.

Rober probably did not fully understood why he did it. He resisted the impulse that gripped him when this girl - this fragile creature that he was going to trample down, to win, to crush - refused him. He realized that he would earn her love, he would do whatever it may cost him, and then... then he would see what to do with his prize.

.

Winter evenings at the Opera were cold. It was almost impossible to walk through the corridors, so ballet dancers gathered in a large room with a fireplace and sat near it, wrapped in a shawl, and spent time telling each other theatrical gossip or gloomy legends associated with the Opera.

"Somebody, please, tell us about the Phantom of the Opera!" Asked Nicole, who had recently graduated from the dance academy and joined the troupe.

"Let Meg tell the story!" Shouted someone else.

"Yes, Meg!"

"Meg, your mother was in the troupe, when the Phantom appeared!"

"Well," Meg smiled and stood next to the fireplace. The dancers sat so that everyone could see storyteller.

"One winter night, when the ballet dancers were sitting next to the fireplace, just like we do now," Meg began, "suddenly, all the candles and fire extinguished. The window opened, snowstorm howled, and then they saw it. It appeared in the mirror. The black figure, silent and frightening. It did not say a word, just looked at them, and then pointed to one of the girls. Then it disappeared. The next morning, the dancer was found _dead_!"

Girls screamed.

"Shortly after this, it began to appear more and more often. At first, everyone thought it was Death itself, but one day it sent a note to the directors and signed it "the Phantom of the Opera." It ordered to leave the box five empty for him, and no one, besides our new directors, dared to disobey. Then it disappeared, but returned in twenty years. This story was related to Christine Daae, the late Countess de Chagny. It's not said out loud, but the Phantom almost brought her to death... And then it disappeared again. And reappeared again, almost thirty years later! Perhaps it is listening to us now and laughing at us..."

"How could it live for so many years?" One of the dancers asked.

"Idiot, it's a ghost," said another.

"And now imagine it's here right now," Meg continued to scare her friends. "Now the window will open..."

Meg did not finish. The window actually opened suddenly, and the fire was extinguished. The dancers jumped up from their seats and shouted. But there came a loud voice, which shouted down:

" _I'm here, I'm the mysterious Phantom of the Opera!_ "

Some fainted. Some screamed that they need to lit the fire. Some laughed hysterically.

The door opened, the dancers cried out again, but on the threshold there was only Madame Giry.

"It was Buquet," she said, looking at them with icy stare. "Stop that hysterics immediately. And go to the dance class, it's time for a rehearsal. Never before the Grand Opera troupe has seen such mediocre chickens on pointe!"

The fear of Madame Giry was stronger than the fear of some Phantom of the Opera, so the girls obeyed. Meg came out last, and stopped in the doorway.

"Mom, it was not Buquet."

"Meg Giry, are you a dancer?"

Meg sighed. Her mother repeated that phrase _every_ time she thought that the girl used her special rank.

When Meg's white dancing robe disappeared from sight, Madame Giry closed the door and went to the mirror, looking in it with a gimlet gaze.

.

It was quiet in Christine and Meg's room. Too quiet even for a late time of the day.

This was the calm before the storm, when the tension in the air could be felt by hands, its crackling could be heard and its silhouette could be seen in the dark. Everything seemed ready and waiting for something to happen...

Meg was lying in her bed and trying to sleep, but the events of the day swirled in her mind, exciting mixed feelings. Usually she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, which really bored Christine, who often liked to talk before bedtime.

Closing her eyes every night, Meg could describe the upcoming day in seconds. In the morning she would rise later than Christine, who would already go to her favorite chapel; exactly ten minutes after that, she would knock at the door of Madame Giry's room and will have her next educational conversation - the only event of a personal nature, which her mother allowed herself with her daughter; after half an hour Meg would go to a rehearsal and then… boredom, boredom, boredom...

Meg Giry's every day passed like a dull scenario. There was absolutely nothing outstanding in her life. Every day she lived with indifference, taking the fact that she would never break out of this cycle. Until recently...

That day was not at all ordinary. Meg still heard a warm, male voice calling her, and she inadvertently smiled, hoping that he would help her escape the routine. Suddenly she realized that she really heard someone calling her name. Shivers went down her back.

"Meg! Meg, are you asleep?" The girl, finally, heard. She really wanted to get out of bed and kill Christine with her bare hands, who scared her to death, but Meg closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

She just did not want to talk to Christine. However, a minute later Meg heard that Christine opened the door. The ballet girl immediately stood up.

"Where are you going?" She asked sternly. In the dim candle light the face of her friend could hardly be seen, but Meg knew for sure that Christine was scared. She stood in the middle of the room in a nightgown and was shaking like a leaf.

"Nowhere, Meg, go back to sleep, please..." Christine murmured.

"Oh, no, you're crazy if you're going to walk around the Opera at night. Haven't you heard about the Phantom..."

"He's not dangerous!" Christine exclaimed inadvertently and clamped her mouth with her hands.

She knew, of course, she knew that voice, which scared the dancers tonight. She wanted to shout for joy when the others were screaming in terror! After all, he already had done her great honor, he invited her to his lair to make _love_ to her... Oh, how she trembled at that thought! Every cell of her soul worried and elated! She _had_ to come to him that night, no matter how Meg tried to stop her.

"You really are mad!"

"Meg, darling, please, be quiet!" Christine whispered tearfully. "Please, let me go!"

"Christine!" Meg shouted, but at that moment the candle flame, as if purposely, wavered and attenuated.

She gasped and hurried to light the candle again, but when the light filled the room, Christine was gone. Without hesitation, Meg put on a robe over her nightgown and quietly opened the door. No matter how, but she had to return this intolerable girl in safety.

.

When Madame Giry entered the office, the headmistresses finished their tea with cookies. They were silent, each was immersed in her thoughts, but Caroline looked at Marguerite from time to time. Her cousine seemed to have her head in the clouds...

 _Marguerite and Robert were silent, sitting on a bench. If it was summer, it cicadas would be chirping, but in winter nothing interrupted their awkward silence._

 _Robert held her hand and looked completely lost. He did not know how to handle the feeling that was so hard that he was not at all sure if he wanted to deal with it._

 _"_ _Monsieur Gugot?" Marguerite found courage to break the silence._

 _"_ _Oh, please, call me by my name."_

 _"_ _I'm still not ready for any whatsoever relations. I hope you will understand me. I manage the Opera almost single-handedly, and any misstep can ruin everything. Do you understand?"_

 _"_ _Yes," he said quietly._

 _"_ _I really do not have authority over my emotions. And so I ask you, Robert... to be my true friend on whom I can rely. This is the most important thing for me. I promise that everything will change when I realize that I stand firmly on my feet._

 _"_ _I'll be your friend," he promised._

Daylight had faded, and a lamp was burning dimly on the table. There was a knock. Girls raised their heads in surprise – Madame Giry had never troubled them at such time.

But here she was: a black dress of pretty rough cloth, her face milky white, her icy eyes. Madame Giry slightly tilted her head in greeting, then stopped, not knowing what to say.

Marguerite frowned, looking at her.

"Has anything happened?" she asked. "Sit down and drink tea with us."

But Madame Giry only shook her head. She answered immediately, though two desires fought in her mind - to speak or remain silent. Finally, she lowered her voice and said:

"I must have told you this much earlier," the old woman started, "but I could not. Not yet fully assured of the veracity of these rumors. And I kept looking for the right words. Now I'm ready to tell you about the testament."

The headmistresses listened, taken aback by surprise.

"The testament?" Caroline repeated. "Do not tell me that _my_ uncle bequeathed the Opera management not to us, but to some irregular children?

"What are you saying!" Marguerite gasped. "He did not have any other heirs!"

Madame Giry continued:

"I'm pretty sure that there is another will, written not by Monsieur Andre but by Monsieur Firmin. Before his departure, he told me that he was not completely satisfied with the will they wrote together a few years ago. He even wanted to rewrite it, but I did not know if he had accomplished his idea. Now I can say with accuracy, he had. The second document exists, but I cannot say for sure what is written in it."

"Nice," Caroline answered, looking at her with a dull expression. "Something tells me that we cannot expect anything good from this will."

"I want to find it," Margo said. "But I'm afraid to do this alone... What do you think Caroline? If we ask... the sponsors… will they help with the search? In the end, the will concerns them as well."

Not taking her eyes off her cousin, Caroline replied that she considered it a bad idea. But she was not listened to. Marguerite and Madame Giry quietly (but very vividly) discussed where the will might be hidden. A few minutes later Margo clasped her hands:

"If we find it, we will probably possess a certain amount of money that Uncle concealed."

"Money?" Caroline tightened. "But the Opera was on the verge of bankruptcy! Do you think our uncle still had some money?"

"It's called to "save for a rainy day"," Marguerite said, smiling. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Surprisingly, of course." Caroline stopped stirring the tea and the silver spoon clinked spitefully. "And don't you think that this will could have already been found..."

She hesitated, looking at Madame Giry. Could she speak about the Phantom in her presence? It seemed reckless to Caroline. And Marguerite looked like she doesn't has the slightest idea of her sister's sudden silence. She just stared, waiting for the answer, and did not even blink. Caroline coughed.

Madame Giry - what a smart woman! - nodded and left the room. Caroline waited until her steps would abate in the corridor, and ran to Marguerite.

"What if the Phantoms have found the will? They're disgusting! That's the only thing they need!"

Marguerite paused, thinking.

"I do not think so. They don't need this will. Don't you believe our uncle was so frightened by the Phantoms that he gifted them _our_ Opera, do you?"

But they couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the evening.


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER XII**

 _Well, greetings to you, yet again._

 _I write you so many letters, which are never sent. Soon there won't be enough space for them in my shelter. That's so funny. And so disgusting, when I think of it afterwards._

 _You don't care for me. You never did. You left me. You throw me away, as if I was your unsuccessful creation. And then, I can imagine, you gave birth to other children, and they all looked beautiful and fair, like you. And you forgot me. Indeed, why would you hold a memory of such a hideous brat, which disgraced you…_

 _But I do remember you. I think of you. And I write you these letters, day after day, page after page. Then I put it all into a giant chest and never read it._

 _I write you about things that happen here. You know, I do hear every whisper, every word. Everything these worthless people say, and everything my so-called "brothers" talk about… For example, my brother Earl is nursing this loony imbecile called Ram. He is also caring for a new manager girl… Disgusting. They are not my brothers by any terms!_

 _But I do have real brothers, right? I am sure, I do. And beautiful sisters, too. Perfect as you are. And I am sure you love them, though you don't worth a button for them. And I… I would have strangled them, if that could make you remember about me._

 _I would do anything, if you'd love me in return._

 _I would give everything in my damned life only to see your face and look into your eyes._

 _Would you do the same?_

 _Your son, forever gone,_

 _Gary._

Gary pulled the rope from his neck and jumped off the table as soon as he heard the sound of the door opening. He did all this with a lightning speed, but it took Earl even less time to get the idea of what was going on. He froze, staring at his brother in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" Earl asked.

Gary turned away and pretended to pull himself together – he straightened his jacket, lowered the cuffs and put on his mask.

"None of your business" he barked. "Why are you here? I thought, you don't visit anyone but this filthy slut. So what happened? No one is waiting for our lover in the dungeons tonight?"

Even if Earl was offended by this remark, he chose to ignore it. Like it or not, Gary always said sarcastic and rude things in a bad mood. In a good too, actually. The very nature made him gloomy and mean. He was a recluse more than all his brothers. Perhaps that is why Erik made him his main assistant?..

"You know that I'm no lover" Earl said quietly, giving the room a careful look. "And I really hate it, when you speak such things of Mademoiselle Firmin".

Gary smirked sadly.

And then Earl's gaze fell on the scattered clumps of parchment lying around the room, the still wide-open box full of letters. Finally, he noticed the portrait on the table. Small, round gold frame with an ugly crack upon the glass. Earl moved closer, wanting to study the picture. The portrait captured the features of a young woman, blond and aristocratic.

He'd obviously seen this face before, but where?..

Earl saw Gary making his way to the table and grabbing the portrait. Hiding it as fast as he could, Gary looked up on Earl.

"I did not invite you" he spoke by syllables. "Nor did I gave you permission to touch my things. Speak up and leave".

"If my eyes don't betray me" Earl answered dryly. "This things does not belong to you. Anyway, I do not preach".

"We're both adults" Gary agreed.

"That's about right. I just wanted to remind you that Erik asked everyone to meet tomorrow night. The usual way, you know".

Gary thoughtfully shook his head. The mention of the Father pursued him to calm down. Earl thought, with a strange relief, that now all Gary will concentrate on the following meeting. His face was overshadowed with hate too often lately. Earl was terrified by the thought that one day the darkness will consume what's left of good in him.

If Earl had overstepped the coldness between them, he would have had asked Gary about his attempt of hurting himself. But what for? The brother would never bother to answer. He would probably ask him to get lost instead.

"All right" Gary cut the silence. "I'll be there. And you should notify everyone else".

Earl nodded and walked back to the door. Gary followed his every step with his frightening, fogged eyes, which had a glimpse of madness in it. Earl wanted to say something encouraging, but Gary glanced at him with such a cold, humiliating gaze, that no words left the Englishman's mouth. He simply left.

Gary stood very still near the table. He could hear the muffled beating of his own heart, and he hated the disturbance, the shame and the pain he felt. Why can't he lose all the human feelings? Without it, the life wouldn't look like such a nightmare!

Slowly, his heart stopped pondering so nervously. He pulled the picture of the beautiful girl out again, then brushed the branched crack with his fingers and struggled to breath. Earl almost caught him. Almost, but not yet. And Gary – what a fool! – entirely forgot himself while writing another letter. What this horrible woman made of him!

This fury with hair, sparkling like gold ... Witch with eyes transparent like the forest lake...

On the portrait, she waved her gentle, forgiving smile at the Phantom. Not a single face could hold the similar expression.

"I'll write you later", Gary whispered. "I am tired of you for now. I want to walk to the place, where I won't see you".

He put the portrait in the box, where he kept all his letters, and closed the lid. At the moment, he thought that he slams his own heart with it.

.

The only unlocked door in the entire hall was hiding the secret passage. The narrow, cold, pitch-dark and infinitely long ... God knows: if someone now asked Meg, how long she had been following this path, she would not be able to answer.

The journey began to frighten her. She cursed Christine, who took a strange walk around the Opera at night, and herself, for taking the responsibility upon her shoulders. Now Meg was feeling cold and rather sleepy. Only the thought of saving Christine - and, of course, her restless curiosity - led Meg down the aisle.

Finally, she came across a wall. She looked around in bewilderment, illuminating the walls with the dim light of the lamp, trying to find a secret lever or pass on, but ... Obviously, it was necessary to admit that the course led to a dead end. She had to turn back. Meg sighed in frustration and stood for a moment near the ill-fated wall, before slowly walking away.

Now there was no rush, and it was possible for Meg to examine the path more closely - she did not lose a tinny hope that she would at least find some brick, which could be pressed easily - and the walls would crumble around, revealing a new passage. The rumors said there was a whole dungeon hidden underneath the Opera...

Suddenly there was a quiet creaking coming from the dead end she left only minutes ago. Meg stopped, her feet suddenly became cotton. As slowly as she could, Meg turned her face to the wall, unable to believe her own ears. She definitely heard some creaking. Coming from the impenetrable, silent, empty walls.

Meg drew back, and blood in her veins suddenly cooled off. Someone was standing right behind her. She literally slammed into that someone, and the stranger squeezed her shoulders with a very cold arms. It was obviously a man. The girl turned around, trying to illuminate the face of the person, but when she saw who standing in front of her, she dropped the lamp from the shaking hands. The latter broke with a loud clatter, plunging everything into total darkness, but Meg didn't hear anything but her own heart.

.

Gary tried to calm his heart beating, which, he thought, was present in every corner of the dungeons. He wanted to prevent a chorus girl from visiting Destler's lair. These visits already transformed the dungeons into a brothel. Gary was annoyed and wanted to deal with it as quickly as possible, but it all went wrong. He expected to see Deslter, his mistress, Earl, his mistress- but not the girl, who was shaking like a leaf and who looked like a lost child wrapped in a dressing gown over her nightshirt, firmly clutching the lamp with her hands ... she happened to be too close, too warm, too alive ... and did not utter a single sound.

Silent scene lasted a couple of seconds, but it seemed like an eternity. Gary still felt a sense of touch. He could see girl's frightened face in the dark, but she couldn't see him. Why? Why she didn't scream? Usually, all the people behave like this, when they come face to face with the Phantom of the Opera. And she exactly knew that was him. She was scared by him, so why not letting a little scream? Why?!

.

Meg knew that even one little sound would condemn her to a certain death. She remembered all too well the legend of the Phantom of the Opera, she recognized him within a second. And she knew quite will how the Phantom deals with his victims. It was impossible to get out of this trap alive and unharmed. Especially now, Meg thought, when she was in such a helpless state, not even being able to see where the Phantom stood. She had no idea that she was in a much better position than the Phantom: at least she knew whom she was dealing with. But a single thought did not leave Meg's mind from the moment she saw the face in the mask ...

.

Gary pulled away from his reflections and was horrified to find that the stranger was going to say something. At the same time he saw the approaching silhouette behind the girl and instantly recognized the person. Earl. Not him again!

In the following seconds, Gary thought he was watching the whole scene from the different angle, and it seemed even funny to absorb his own facial expression. Meg opened her mouth and...

"You are alive ... You exist ..." Meg murmured hoarsely. She could not resist the words that literally were straining her from the inside.

Her legs weakened suddenly, someone gently put an arm around her and she fell into the icy darkness, sincerely rejoicing the thought: "Perhaps that's how the deadly punishment of the terrible Phantom of the Opera caught me".

.

Caroline looked into the hall where the rehearsal of «Il Muto» took place. During the premiere of the play the troupe figured out a few mistakes and decided to rehearse a new transition between scenes.

Just as Carolie thought, William Fairfax was here, sitting in the first row.

Everything boiled on stage, actors fussed and complained that rehearsals without the presence of the main performer were incredibly difficult, but still, everyone had much more enthusiasm than usual. This Caroline, of course, saw as her own merit.

She quietly stepped into the hall, went to William – who seemed to notice her appearance, but did not show any interested - and said quietly:

"Listen," she said without preamble. "You are wasting your time in vain. Rehearsal runs wonderfully, and you absolutely don't have to watch it till the end.

William raised one eyebrow, with his eyes still locked on stage. His face remained impenetrable and even cold. Englishman behaved strangely. He did not seem to care for what Caroline just said, what she was wearing, or why did she came to him in the first place. She, meanwhile, looked lovely in a silky gown. How could he ignore her?! Was he unpleasantly shocked with her little trick, performing as the famous Italian singer? But she, Caroline, has done so much to make this possible! Why does he not understand?

Then came the voice of William, colorless, tired and irritated.

"Should I leave?" he asked the manager. "If you dislike my presence that much..."

"No, no," Caroline rolled her eyes. "I'm not talking about this. I do not want to hang around here until noon, that's what I was trying to say".

William turned and gave her such a murderous look that Caroline paused. Something in him changed. Frowning, she continued:

"I'm just looking for a companion. You know, for a short walk. And a breakfast".

She looked up, saying this. She was ashamed, but she could never admit it.

Fairfax blinked. Headmistress's words surprised him. At least, he stopped looking at her with such a terrible expression. In the next moment the Englishman said briskly:

"Are you asking me to join you?"

"Oh yes, that's right!" Caroline exclaimed. "How could I foresee that my sister would run away again, leaving me all alone?"

For a few seconds, the silence lasted. Caroline wondered what he would answer. In the morning, when they faced each other near her dressing room, she really behaved rudely, but who would take offense at such nonsense!

Will replied gravely, almost severely:

"What a nuisance ... Of course, I shall help you".

"You'll come with me!" Caroline immediately smiled. "Nice! Can I run to the office to fetch my cloak?"

The man nodded and, after seeing Caroline's attentive eyes, leaned back in his chair. His ears were ringing from the legit singing. Perhaps he got really tired of this rehearsal. There is nothing wrong in wanting to walk outside a little. But something told William that he too easily forgave Mademoiselle de Blois her insolence.

After all, acting in the same fashion - with the best intentions, forgiving all the antics - he ruined his wife, Effie. Turned her into an insatiable, selfish monster...

He glanced at the ring on his finger. He still did not dare to take off. William thought that he need a little more time to forget about this woman. In the meantime, the ring was kept as a reminder of how easy one can spoil the angelic being.

.

Seated at a table near the window, Simon waited for Marguerite. He felt much bolder when he met her outside the Opera - though he did not realize it. In addition, sponsored meetings were always overshadowed by the Robert Gugot!

Simon feared that if the Robert grabbed a new "victim" he will not let her go until he wins her affection.

These fears had forced Simon to invite Mademoiselle Firmin to the wonderful pastry cafe, which he found no further than yesterday. Confectionery was hidden in a completely inconspicuous building, but looked very nice on the inside: the walls painted in pale blue, and geraniums decorated the windows…

That's his kind of place, and Paris never seemed to own a lot of these. Places which are not endowed with a fake charm. This cafe reminded Simon of Marseilles, the incarnation of rural France. Among the winding streets of Paris with bulky fashionable restaurants it was difficult to find something like that! Simon was very proud of the discovery.

Since Marguerite had already asked him once to tell about Marseilles, where she had never been, Simon decided to take her to this cafe. What could express his longing for the homeland, reflect a pleasant simplicity and clarity of Marseille better?

Simon looked out the window. Many women passed the building, but he couldn't notice a familiar face. He would have recognized Marguerite immediately! This gentle sight - surprising that the capital girl can look so gently! - and tight lips. Her hair, sparkling under the sun, and her thin waist...

Suddenly she appeared in front of a showcase. Charming and, as always, a little shy. Marguerite came just in time, but still nervously checked with the old pocket watch. Thanks to Caroline's stories, Simon couldn't imagine his cousin would be so sweet. "She's pretty, but too closed for Parisian, and a coward too!" This is how Caroline spoke of her sister. She thought these features to be negative, while Simon saw the opposite.

Marguerite quickly walked into cafe and went to the table. Simon got up to move the chair for the girl, but she did it herself - still terribly embarrassed.

"Please, forgive me!" she said, looking around. "It's so lovely! Believe, I wanted to come earlier. Caroline troubled me with a search for her opera glasses…"

"My cousin always loses her things" Simon smiled. "And makes other look for it. Once I even had to decline the hunting with friends, because I was too busy searching for a pair of silky gloves".

Marguerite gave a slight chuckle. He was right, that sounded like something Caroline would do!

Simon forced himself to look her in the eye.

"Let's see the menu. I am already thinking about something very sweet".

"You must know the sweets very well" Margo said gently. "Would you advise me something? I'm sure you have a great taste".

"So strange" Simon said, shaking his head. "I wanted to see what would you order to figure out _your_ taste. I can make a mistake, you see".

He examined her face for a little more. Marguerite blushed.

"Don't be afraid of mistakes".

Simon hesitated, but her voice was so gentle that he soon decided not to worry. Every time she spoke with him in such a quiet and confident tone, the young man felt his heart melting. He was too amorous to figure out his feelings weren't strong. It wasn't love or lust, but he had no experience and couldn't tell.

But he knew for sure he liked Marguerite much more than all these pompous Parisians! She didn't had their dry manners, their coldness.

"Try this one" he said. "Bakery here is very tasty!"

"Have you tried it already?"

"I couldn't restrain"

"Oh, I do understand it"

They fell silent again, not knowing what else to say. The conversation flagged.

Soon the waiter brought their order, and there was a sudden change in Marguerite's expression. She blinked several times and then glanced up on Simon.

"Do you know what Caroline and I find out yesterday?" she asked mysteriously, as if she was going to tell the greatest secret on earth.

"Tell me".

Simon felt so nervous he already finished the first portion of pancakes with jam, and now started the second one. Marguerite hardly ate her dessert. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

"You see…"

She told him about the new will, repeating Madame Giry's words.

"The will certainly exists. There's no doubt in Madame Giry's tale. She's always truthful. But it appears she suffered some great shock, why else she would open the secret to you and Caroine, after all the time she was silent? Who knows what's on this old woman's mind".

Marguerite giggled.

"You talk just like your sister. When she first saw Madame Giry, she.."

But the laughter was immediately replaced by a surprised sigh. Tracing the eyes of Mademoiselle Firmin, Simon involuntarily smiled. Tthrough the glass windows they could see a couple, stopped on a street corner. Caroline - and it definitely was his sister - chattered with someone in a very flirting way.

"Such an early morning, and she's on date already!" Simon murmured. "Who's with her?"

A man in a suit of dark green fabric listened to her attentively. For Simon it has always been a mystery how all these poor fools do not run away from his sister from the first sight. Perhaps Caroline was able to lure them with her beauty, but the way she talked couldn't deceive anyone. When she was asked about something - for example, about politics - Caroline lied recklessly and did it remarkably smoothly, but still there must have been at least one man seeing the truth!

The man pointed to the door of a small cafe, where Simon and Marguerite sat, and both instantly recognized him as one of the sponsors - William Fairfax, with his light brown hair and clear eyes.

Marguerite raised an eyebrow.

"Goodness" She murmured dejectedly, while crossing her hands. "Just look, she started to…"

She stopped, feeling uneasy because Simon was Caroline's brother.

"Romance him?" He admitted. "She knows her way around, for sure! She had tons of suitors in our homeland. She took flowers, chocolate and other pointless gifts, and then kicked them out. Not a single one ever received a kiss".

"It turns out that for her, it's like a game" Marguerite chewed her lips. "I do not understand this kind of amusement".

"She only makes it for the raising of self-importance! While she is loved, she is confident and fearless".

At this time, the couple walked into the cafe. A shiver ran down Marguerite's spine when she figured out her appointment with Simon must look exactly the same – as a date. But was she romancing him? Right after the scandal with her fiancé? She felt as if all eyes were turned on her, burning with displeasure.

"What an unexpected encounter!" Caroline said dispassionately. "Simon, you and I think alike. I also noticed this cafe when strolling here last time".

"Great" Simon pursed his lips angrily.

"Will you join us?" Margo asked. "We were just discussing the news about the testament".

"The testament?" William repeated, looking at Caroline curiously. "I do not know anything about it"

"Margo!" Caroline exclaimed. "You promised that as long as we don't get more details, you won't tell anybody!"

Marguerite had no choice but to shrug and a smile. She had only wanted to share with Simon, but sooner or later she had to talk with the sponsors ... And the best thing was to start with a sensible William.

"You see," she continued. "We think that there is yet another testament. And this means that there is ... Suppose, there is a certain amount of money that can go to our use after its announcement"

"Money always make a good use!" Caroline nodded.

"And of course, we will use it with cleverness," Marguerite stated. "For example, for charity..."

William had no time to say anything; Caroline interrupted him. Her lips parted.

"Not again! You're talking about a charity! As if we can pour the money to help others while we ourselves are in need. You act absolutely unreasonable. Opera requires investment, and you know it"

"But you did not offer anything suitable" Marguerite replied, despite irritation. "So I thought, we can raise the charity. This will enhance our status. Light us in the eyes of the society".

"Us? Or _you_?" Caroline lowered her voice. "Tell me honestly: do you just want your name cleared. Earn their approval by patronage - not the wisest of your decisions"

Marguerite turned pale and said that the cousin is very much mistake. Somehow, her conscience, on the contrary, rebelled. _In some ways, Caroline is right. You want to restore your family name, that's all._

Caroline shook her head.

"Money is not for you" She repeated. "But this does not mean I don't need it. Why do you take the decision so soon, without consulting me? After all, we are business partners!"

"Now you remembered we're partners, lovely Cara" Margo said through almost-closed lips. "It is no secret that you wouldn't give a sou for charity"

"Exactly. Are you too honest to put the money into another production?"

"With you in as the main singer? Forget it"

"What's wrong with it? I can sing! You don't!"

Finally, William winced and raised his voice, wanting to calm the girls on the verge of a quarrel.

"Ladies, you divide the money, which, in fact, you don't have yet!"

They are, as if on cue, stared at the Englishman. Stunned by his words, they were frozen in silence. Caroline leaned back in the chair and looked down. Marguerite noticed with slight horror that she could not suppress the anger.

"You do not even know what kind of amount is involved" Simon agreed. "First, find a will, and then share it"

"Haven't you noticed, dear brother?" Caroline began to nervously shake a fan, her face was grim. "We do not share. Nothing"

"What a vile lie!" Margo broke. "I've had enough. I perfectly see that you intend to bring the matter to a mutual resentment. But I won't let you, Cara. One of us has to be smarter".

Caroline shook her head. Her deadpan gaze remained solid, like that of the Empress.

The de Blois family had extra money, but rarely. A couple of months ago, when Caroline and her cousin just got control over the Opera, she jumped with joy at her room and started dancing in the street, imagining the new, luxury life.

Marguerite, on the contrary, never that money is the only value in the world.

Trembling with rage, Margo got up from her seat and, not bothering to wait for Simon, withdrew from the cafe. Caroline watched her leave – and then exhaled loudly. Her shoulders relaxed, and the desperate expression appeared on her face.

"Don't you see how disgusting she is?" Caroline asked.

The reproachful glances of Simon and William were the most unwanted answer. Of course, Caroline immediately felt very upset, but at the same time she felt the cruel pleasure from the fact that she was finally able to reveal the "truth" of the world to her hyper-innocent sister.

"Excuse me" Simon said. "It's too much. Marguerite, wait a minute!"

"Loving fool!" Caroline gasped. "She did not even cry, this Mademoiselle Perfect!"

William was flipping through the menu, as if nothing had happened, but he did it with a feigned calmness.

"If you allow, I can hint that you behaved wrong" He began dryly. "But your cousin doesn't acted any better. As a sponsor, I am surprised and disappointed"

Caroline slammed her menu and threw it on the table.

"You know," She hissed. "I am very much obliged to you for your silence at the moment when my nerves are strained to the limit".

William chuckled. It is, perhaps, the first time Cara heard him making some kind of laughter.

"Keep yourself under control, and others won't have to comment your actions"

"You're not the one who has that right, sir!"

Fairfax looked at her with pain, then squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep calm.

"Very good. This is the last time I interfere in your personal affairs".


End file.
